


The Doctor and The Captain

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: College, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Jamie and Claire meet in College.





	1. Cassiopeia

**_Cassiopeia_ **

She looked pretty annoyed, he thought. Jamie had no desire to be the receiver of _that_ particular look.

He had come to recognize that small wrinkle that appeared between her eyebrows when she was upset or unpleased with something. He had seen it many times sitting in the library, when she was gazing at her Anatomy Atlas, looking at the representation of the inguinal canal as if it had personally offended her. Sometimes that little frown was accompanied with a bite on her full bottom lip; and that usually meant she was about to growl in exasperation and change the page to the much more inconspicuous image of a spleen.

And right now she was looking at Jimmy Watson, babbling with a pint in one hand while the other touched her arm, with a look that anticipated murder. He smiled in amusement, took a sip of his own dark and strong ale, and folded his arms to continue his task of guarding her. Unseen. Unnoticed. Nameless to her.

Jamie recalled the first time he had seen her, almost one year ago. It was a cold September morning and he was running late for practice after a long night dwelling between Dante and Homer – he had a test coming and wanted to kick the year to a good start. It was raining somewhat heavily, but a mere drizzle to a Highland born lad like himself. There was something soothing about the feel of the falling rain, a liquid touch of divine grace – and so he slowed his walk to appreciate the calmness.

Everyone around him was running, a human garden made of umbrellas, trench coats and even books raised above their heads in desperation to avoid the relentless drops.

Except _her_.

She was standing bellow the big oak tree, her face raised to the sky and her eyes closed. Enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin, a beautiful smile flourishing on her lips. She was lovely, with her curly hair damp from the moistness, her floral dress wet enough to highlight the curves of her body.

Something in that image took his breath away. Something in her stroke a spark. They were the only two people embracing the rain amongst a buzzing, hurrying, crowd – and he felt linked to her in a frightening and almost mystical way.

After that he made a routine of detouring from his usual path to get a glimpse of her in the mornings, usually going to classes or taking a stack of gigantic books to the library; sometimes even during lunch in the canteen. He soon realized the main library of the campus was like a sanctuary to her and began to take his own scrambled notes and books to sit across the room from her - and slowly and devotedly dedicated himself to the task of memorizing and deciphering Claire Beauchamp.  

That her dorm was directly in front of his seemed like a blessing and a torture. Sometimes he would stand behind the closed curtains and watched her through the sheerness of the fabric, siting by the open window. And sometimes when he couldn’t manage to conciliate sleep he would get up and roamed his quarters to look at the sky, only to discover she was also awake - and found comfort on the thought that they gazed at the same stars when everyone else was asleep.

In the rare days their paths didn’t cross, even at distance, everything seemed to pale, to acquire a tinge of grey – those were always hazardous days, when he would end up being hit during practice or getting reprehended by a teacher for being distracted when questioned about the work they were presently studying.

“Jamie!”

He finally noticed the fingers waving in front of his eyes and the face of his best friend, Ian Murray, looking at him bewildered.

“What?” Jamie asked, still watching with the corner of his eye Claire giving Jimmy the cold shoulder.

“Annalise was just here talking to ye, man. She was inviting ye to go to her place and see her rare collection. Jamie, I’m not even sure she was talking about books, ye ken!”

“Was she?” He blurted distracted.

“What is wrong with ye, lad?” Ian asked, moving to stand just in front of Jamie, blocking his view. “When she first arrived to do the exchange program ye talked about the lass night and day. And now she was practically trying to sit on yer lap and ye looked bored out of yer mind!”

“I don’t fancy her anymore.” He whispered, drinking from his glass to prevent himself from saying more. Finding an opportunity to say her name. _Claire_.

“So, where have ye been looking all night?” Ian asked, sounding curious. Jamie couldn’t avoid the quick glance he threw in Claire’s general direction, which Ian promptly noticed. He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “Oh, it’s _her_ again. For Christ’s sake _a charaid_ , when will ye get a handle on yer bollocks and finally gain courage to speak to the lass?”

“And say what?” Jamie questioned, irritated. “Hey, I’m Jamie Fraser, I know ye dinna even ken I exist but somehow I feel like I’ve known ye my whole life, even though we never trade a single word?” He shook his head. “That would be a great move!”

“Ach.” Ian made an impatient sound with his throat. “All this pining and longing – I’m beginning to think ye’ll overdose on Shakespeare lad. We are on the middle of a party, offer to pay her a drink and ask for a dance.”

“She has her hands full already.” They watched as Jimmy tried to place an eager hand on her waist and Claire swiftly slapped it off, hissing something between her teeth. Ian chuckled and Jamie growled.

The pub was incredibly crowded with Oxford students, looking to celebrate the end of a school year – drink to forget a grade less than brilliant; kiss a current crush to make a memory for the summer; and enjoy an endless stream of whiskey and ale with fellow companions. The music was loud enough, but only faint notes arrived at their ears, subdued by laughter and conversations.

“Mary and Sarah are coming this way.” Ian warned him, locating two blonde girls with cleavages that left very little to the imagination and matching red _fuck-me_ lipsticks. “And they look hell-bent on getting something from ye. Maybe ye should have worn a chastity belt?”

Jamie moaned.

“I canna deal with those lunatics right now. Maybe ye should take one for the team? Ye did promised my father ye’d be always on my side, guarding me.”

“I’m not sae sure that includes…hum… _dealing_ with your fans, _a charaid_. Besides, yer sister Jenny would skin me alive.”

Jamie noticed how Claire was talking to a friend and gesturing in what seemed like an attempt to say she was going to leave. She looked eerily beautiful in a white shirt and skinny blue jeans, her hair wild and untamed framing her pale skin. Her amber eyes shone even across the room, without any need of makeup to enhance them. Everything about her seemed natural and effortless – and yet she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in the room for him.

“I think I’ll just go home for the night. Got to be in shape for the game tomorrow.” He told Ian, squeezing his shoulder in a companion way. “Behave in my absence, sir.”

“Aye.” Ian gave him a knowing look, clearly stating _“You can try but ye canna fool me, lad.”_ “I’ll see ye in the dorm if ye get there.”

Jamie managed to get across the pub and reached the exit just in time to see Claire leave by herself. Well, at least he would make sure she reached the safety of her dorm without being disturbed. He placed his hands on the pockets of his jacket and slowly began to walk behind her.

They made their way across a couple of streets, Jamie always carefully keeping some distance, occasionally being greeted by colleagues and other students in different states of sobriety.

When they were reaching a darker street, the light of the distant lamp post freakishly glimmering, Claire suddenly halted.

“Why are you following me?” She asked aloud, without turning. “I can assure you, I have no interest in whatever indecent proposal you’re about to offer me. I already dealt with a douchebag tonight and my patience is running a little low.” Her tone was strong and confident.

“I wasna following ye.” Jamie answered. “Just making my way home.”

“Really?” She turned and faced him, her mouth a thin line. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Believe in whatever ye want.” He defended himself, crossing his arms. “I mean ye no harm.”

“You were watching me back there.” She tilted her chin, indicating the direction of the pub. “And now you’re following me across a dark alley. Forgive me if I’m a little concerned.” She noticed the surprised look on his face at the mention of his behaviour in the pub. “Will you deny it?”

“No.” He said slowly. “I was watching that bloody sod trying to grope ye and was worried for ye. So I followed ye to make sure ye got home safe, Claire.”

“You know my name?” She asked, clearly taken aback by it.

“Of course. Everyone kens Claire Beauchamp, medical school student, number one in her class.”

“Well, you have me at a disadvantage.” She looked down at him. “I have no clue about who you are.”

“I’m Jamie.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared ye, but that was it. The streets are swarming with drunken wee fools tonight and if anything happened to ye…”

“I’m perfectly alright.” She wrinkled her nose. “As you saw back there I’m capable of handling an idiot. And I didn’t even get to use my pepper spray.” She smiled a little.

He laughed.

“I’ll definitely be more discrete the next time I follow ye into a dark corner.”

“So you should.” She placed her hands on her waist, her shoulders relaxing, giving him a straight glance. “And where did you park the horse, oh knight in shining armour?”

“He had a date over a plate of hay. My horse has a much more interesting love life than me, these days.” He replied playfully, reciprocating her stare.

They stayed in silence for a while, measuring each other.

“I lied.” She abruptly admitted, her cheeks painted with a slight pink. “I know who you are, _Jamie Fraser_.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I would have to be blind, deaf _and_ stupid not to. Your name lives on the lips of almost every girl in this damned campus. The star and captain of Oxford’s rugby team. The Classical lit genius. The King of bloody Men.”

“Oh.” He blurted. “The King of _what_?”

She snorted.

“That’s what your admirers call you in the stands, swooning their hearts out. And the other boys probably call you a much less pleasant version of that out of spite, I expect.” She raised an eyebrow. “You really didn’t know that?”

“Nay.” He shrugged, moving his shoulders in a restless gesture. “So you’ve seen me play?”

“Yes, I’ve seen you out in the field.” Claire smiled, her hawk eyes warming. “I was there when you saved our asses against Cambridge. Couldn’t really face the idea of having to listen to them gloating again, after what happened in the regatta.”

“That was a bonny game.” He smiled. “I’m glad to know ye were there.”

“I was.” She distractedly played with the strap of her purse. “You are a true force of nature out there. But even though you looked amazing, that is not the time you look most like yourself.” She leaned against the wall behind her, her eyes avoiding his. “You look more like yourself when you’re sitting all sprawled in the chair, chewing on your pencil while you read Hamlet for what I bet it’s the millionth time. Or when you go out at dawn for a run when nobody will cheer and chant your name, just because you like how that feels. When you run for classes with your hair still wet and your shoelaces untied.” She swallowed. “And most of all when you sit by the window at night and look at the stars and you could be part of the darkness, except you’re everything but it.”

“Ye knew.” He said in a hoarse voice. “All this time, ye knew.”

“No.” She shook her head, her fingers grazing the cloud of her hair in nervousness. “I dared to hope for it sometimes. I…” Claire finally met his gaze. “I wished for it. But when you came after me tonight, the way you were looking at me in the pub when Jimmy touched me…I thought, perhaps, you truly did.”

“Yes.” He moved closer to her and touched her cheek, soft and warm under his fingers. She smelt of freshly squeezed lemons and soap. “I saw ye too. All that time, there was only ye.”

“I thought so many times of something to say to you.” Claire licked her lips. “Clever words, funny things, small talk. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But sometimes at night I knew you were there, across that space, and I could hear the song of your soul calling for me and wanted to leap to you.”

“ _Mo nighean donn_.” He whispered, framing her face with his hands. His lips brushed hers. Softly. Tentatively. Searing. “I’m in love with ye, Claire.”


	2. The Captain

_**The Captain** _

“You really should go to bed.” She laughed as he pressed a kiss on her temple. _The last one_ , which had been preceded by ten others, varying only on the place on her face they landed – all of them also _the last one_. “If people find out I’m the reason you stayed awake until – “. She glanced at her wristwatch, the luminous clock hands marking three hours after midnight. “Very – _very -_ late and therefore didn’t get your proper rest, I’ll be skinned alive if we lose tomorrow’s game.”

“Ach.” He growled, nuzzling her hair. “What I’ll lack in sleep will be fairly compensated in spirits. I’m certain I’ll play my best game ever.”

“Hmm.” Claire giggled as he tickled her neck, brushing his lips on her sensitive skin. “At least I haven’t spent you.” She quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. “Is that really a rule before a big game though? That you can’t…hmmmmm?” She made a meaningful sound with her throat and wiggled her eyebrows.

Jamie snorted and blushed beautifully.

“Dinna ken.” He shrugged. “That has never really been an issue before. But,” He added conspiratorially. “If this is yer way of making me an indecent proposal…”

“Don’t be forward, James Fraser.” She playfully slapped his arm. “I don’t even know your full name yet and here you are – plotting to experimentally shag me in the bushes before a decisive game?”

“We aren’t in the bushes!” He defended himself. “It’s a fountain. And it’s James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. _And_ ye’re not that good of a stalker if ye dinna ken that. I’ve known yer full name for months, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

They were sitting on the edge of a big fountain near their dorms. The weather was pleasant and warm, a light breeze making the brown leaves crack on the trees; a type of night that makes the blood sing and hum, propelling people to be a little reckless and share all their secrets in quiet embrace.

“I wasn’t stalking you!” She defended herself. “I just noticed you. A lot. I might have followed you at distance on occasion but that was entirely…”

He interrupted her by kissing her deliciously, a slow and sensual kiss that left a tightness on her belly.

“I have to go.” Jamie breathed and she could hear the regret in his voice. He held her face between his long and surprisingly gentle fingers. “Will ye come to the game? I’ll play better if I ken ye’re there.”

“A horde of wild ostriches wouldn’t stop me.” She smiled and gave him a light peck on the lips.

They walked together, hand in hand, the late hour shielding them from curious eyes until they reached Jamie’s dorm entrance. He hugged her by the waist, their bodies pressed together in an intimate but surprisingly natural way.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all.” He confessed, caressing her waist with circular moves. “I’m too scared to wake up and find this was all a dream. The best dream ever.”

“So what’s your suggestion?” She asked, placing her arms around his neck and inhaling his addictive scent. “Skipping sleep altogether?”

“Sleep with me.” He blurted. “I mean - just _sleep_. Ian texted me saying he’s staying at Rupert’s tonight. So you could stay with me if ye wanted.”

Claire gave him a direct look. With any other young man she was acquainted with, this probably would be a shameless attempt of getting in her pants after only a few hours of making out. But Jamie was different – she knew it with astonishing clearness. He knew it was too soon for more intimacy – and wouldn’t risk their precious connection with a rushed gesture, seeking only fleeting pleasure. But her body ached to feel him beside her, surrendering to sleep under her vigilant eyes; she longed for the feel of him, dreaming within her reach.

“Alright.” She smiled. “If you think we can dodge the doorkeeper.”

They quickly agreed on a strategy – Jamie entered first and cheerfully greeted Mr. Culpepper, another unabashed fan of Jamie’s rugby abilities. They previewed the game tomorrow, how their rival’s full-back was an infuriatingly good catcher and how the weather would influence the wing’s performance. With Jamie’s imposing frame strategically positioned in front of Mr. Culpepper, blocking his view to the door, Claire half crawled half ran inside and up the stairs, holding the key to Jamie’s room.

“I think we’re condemningly good at this.” She gloated when Jamie finally joined her inside the room. She was already lounged against his pillow, wiggling her toes. “Maybe we are meant for a criminal career together.”

“How did ye ken that was my bed?” Jamie asked with a smile. “It wasn’t exactly tagged.”

“No.” She replied with a faint blush appearing on her neck. “But this one smells of you.”

They quickly made their arrangements for the night, Jamie entering the bathroom to change into his pyjamas bottoms, while Claire used the room to undress and put on an old and oversized t-shirt lent by Jamie. It certainly covered more of her than most of her dresses and night shirts.

“Well, what do you think?” Claire asked when he reappeared, opening her arms and giving a slight twirl. “I might keep this one. It’s a very comfy shirt.”

“Aye.” He gulped. Claire could see his chest softly heaving; his eyes darker than before, softly tracing with their gaze her elegant legs and her breasts under the cotton fabric. “I might have to insist that you do.”

They laid down together, awkwardness brought from their mutual arousal raising between them. They were on their sides, staring into each other’s eyes, too afraid to actually touch. Eventually Jamie gave a throaty laugh and, putting his arm around her torso, pushed her against his chest.

“Come here curly wig.” He said in a husky voice. He brushed her back, in a slow and soothing rhythm, helping her body relax against his. Their breathings became synchronized, their hearts pulsing in closeness, their bodies sharing a newfound familiarity – and they surrendered to sleep like one, facing each other - so when their eyes opened in the night’s quietness, they could continue to dream.

****

Claire woke up watching the soft light playing in the roof. She felt stiff from the lack of sleep, her head pleasantly drowsy – more alive than she had ever felt in her entire existence. She rolled to look for him but found only a note in the pillow beside her head that made her smile.

_“Had to leave early to warm up and discuss tactics. Thank you for the best night of my life, mo nighean donn. Lunch after the game? J.”_

When she approached the rugby’s field, she could already hear the roar and hum of an excited crowd, like a hive of bees. She managed to find some of her friends and luckily they had saved her a good sit, where she’d be able to enjoy the view of Jamie playing.

“And here comes the Oxford team,” The speaker shouted as the blue team emerged from the locker room. “Lead by the best fly-half Oxford has had in years, James _“King of Men”_ Fraser!”

Claire cheered and whistled with the rest of the crowd, her heart swelled with pride and love at the sight of Jamie’s flaming red hair, contrasting with the deep blue of his jersey. He walked with grace and respectfully shook the hand of the captain of the red and black team.

He turned and looked at the crowd, clearly searching for someone. She knew he had spotted her, raising her hand to wave at him, when the corners of his mouth opened in a smile and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Northumbria had prepared well for the game; their players were in good shape and had a pretty good flanker, a large man with the looks of an untamed gorilla – but in spite of their best efforts, they didn’t really stood a chance against the meteor of Jamie Fraser.

His kick was powerful; his commanding voice rouse the team to him. He seemed to always make the right decision and after a few minutes the home’s team was already leading comfortably.

“I have never seen something quite like it!” The speaker roared with excitement. “Fraser is on fire, he’s killing Northumbria! We are watching a legend be born! They form the _scrum_ and Fraser is ready to receive the ball.”

Claire smiled as Jamie ran the field, knowing that he carried her with him; that she inspired him to achieve greatness.

Out of nowhere a player ran against him, scorn and anger propelling him forward, and tackled Jamie.

Claire watched in horror as Jamie flew across the air like a fallen bird and hit his head against the field – the red of blood hauntingly dripping from his head to his closed eyes, visible even at the distance.

****

She pushed the door of the infirmary and noticed he had company. Blonde, perky boobs and tiny denim skirt type of company.

Claire had been delayed getting to him because she had wanted to talk to the doctor first; she didn’t remember to breathe until he had reassured her that he had sustained only a minor concussion and a small wound in his scalp that he had already sutured.

She hawked and Jamie’s eyes noticed her, a glow appearing amidst the blue.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked, her lips feeling cold and numb. “I can come back later.”

“No!” Jamie said hurriedly. He was lying on his back on the infirmary bed, his blue jersey’s white collar and shorts stained with dark red blood, a bandage already snuggly tied around his forehead. He was barefoot, someone having removed his boots and knee long blue socks. “Annalise was just checking in – she was about to leave.”

Claire raised a brow looking at the fair girl who presented Jamie with a surprised and very offended look.

“I brought my copy of _Divine Comedy_.” The French student pressed on, a tentative smile drawn on her lips, pretty in pink like a rose bud in the spring. “I thought I can read for you and keep you company.”

“Claire will stay with me.” He assured, his eyes never leaving Claire’s face. He looked undefended and slightly frightened. “Won’t you, _mo nighean donn_?”

“I will.” She said, still divided between annoyance with the presence of the member of his fan club and amusement at his clear embarrassment. “I won’t leave you unless you want me to.”

He grinned and nodded, grimacing with the pain the movement caused inside his head, his palm going to his temple to steady the dizzying feeling.

“Alright.” Annalise puffed. “I guess I’ll see you in class. Take care, Jamie.”

She reluctantly walked to the white door, her denim covered hips swaying like a gazelle strutting to allure the male, in a final desperate attempt of mating.

“Hmpf.” Claire snorted with a disgusted look. “I think you ought to thank me, Jamie – if I hadn’t intervened you’d probably end up tied to the bedframe with her straddling you.” She gave him a suspicious look under her lashes. “Unless that’s what you wanted? I can call her back here and you can have a bondage session declaiming Dante.”

“Are you jealous?” He asked somewhat smugly and certainly delighted. “The lass is naught to me, Claire. She gave me a wicked headache with her high-pitched voice though.”

Claire sat on the armchair by his bed, her hand searching his and entwining their fingers. Grounding her. Calming her. Stealing away the terror that had filled her chest at the sight of him, unconscious and bleeding on the muddy field. The nightmare of having him stolen away, when they had just found each other, still resounding in the corners of her mind.

“That probably has more to do with the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle that hit you in the head.” She said tersely, touching his cheek. “That brute tackled you like a nasty bulldozer.”

“It’s the game.” Jamie highlighted with calm. “It’s not the first nor will it be the last time I get hit pretty roughly. But we won, aye?” He finished in a cheerful tone.

“Yes.” She gulped, breathing deeply to calm her panic. “I’m sure that would come as a great relief if you had died. Something to put in the tombstone and get people talking in the wake, you know?”

“Are ye upset?” He asked softly, watching her fidgeting with his fingers. Her eyes avoided his, focusing on the number seven engraved in white on his sleeve and the smaller _“Fraser”_ stylized underneath it. “Do ye want to talk about it?”

“Not sure.” She murmured, smoothing his red hair with her eager fingers. “You need your rest, Jamie. We have plenty of time to talk later.”

“I canna sleep knowing there’s something disturbing ye.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, his short stubble prickling on her sensitive skin. “Is it the lasses singing in the stands? Because ye have to know they mean nothing and…”

“No. That’s not it.” Claire stopped him. “I’m just scared, Jamie. You are a wonderful player and I know that – you really shine when you’re out there and I get the thrill, I really do…”

“But…” He encouraged her, caressing her brow with his index finger.

“But I’m a doctor.” She exhaled, trying to gather her strength. “Well, not yet – but I wanted to be a doctor for, I guess you could say, all my life. The joy of soothing an excruciating ache, delivering a baby or fixing a broken bone is just…magical, you know? You really feel it’s more than a job – it’s a gift. A gift that someone gave you and you keep giving it back to other people.”

“Aye.” He nodded in understanding.

“I’m a healer.” She said in a low voice. “And this game is everything I fight against. It’s breaking and tearing apart. It’s crushing and mangling. I could see the beauty, the skill, the power behind it – but now, with you… I can only see the damage. I can only see a thousand different ways I could lose you.”

“Claire.” Jamie said softly. “Do ye want me to give up playing?”

“I want you to be safe.” She whispered fiercely, with a menace of tears strangling her voice. “I want you to be whole by my side, Jamie. I don’t want to have to heal _you_.”

“If ye’re asking me to quit the team,” He breathed deeply and looked at her, his blue eyes serious and honest. “I will. For you, I would do it. I would do anything.” His finger caught a tear that broke the barricade of her eyes.

“I could never ask you that.” She snuffled and gave him a tremulous smile. “It’s part of who you are and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.”

He smiled, a tender and happy sight that warmed her to the very marrow of her bones.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, alright?” She raised from the chair and sat on the bed next to him. Her head carefully nestled on his chest; oblivious of the smell of sweat, mud and blood; craving only to feel the reassuring heat of him. The proximity. The immediacy of his life, heart throbbing strongly - still countless beatings left until the end. And she intended to witness them all, her ears flooded by the sound of his vibrant life. 

“You can be _the captain_ to them; Jamie _“King of Men”_ Fraser; the all-star player; the idol.” She scooted up and softly kissed his lips, their foreheads pressed together. “But to me…you have my heart. You _are_ my heart. So take good care of it and keep it with you.”


	3. Anamnesis

_**Anamnesis** _

Jamie sorted through the small squares made of blue cardboard and gave her an evil smile.

“ _Charcot’s triad_?”

“Fever, jaundice and right upper quadrant pain.” She replied without hesitation, giving him a smug smile. “You’ll have to do much worse if you want to get me.”

“Well then.” He shuffled through the cards and gave her a victorious glare when he found a suitable one. “Differential diagnosis of fever of unknown origin. _All.of.them_.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” She sighed and threw herself in listing numerous diseases with gruelling enough names to make one feel very sick indeed.

“…Amebiasis, Bartonellosis, Brucellosis, Malaria, Catscratch disease.” Claire gave him a hesitant look. “How many am I missing?”

“Just about a couple of hundred.” He offered her the card with a smile. “I consider myself avenged after you quizzed me on the Odyssey. I’ll have nightmares with that for years to come – ye’re fairly harder on me than Mr. Rice, the actual teacher.”

“I like being thorough.” She replied tersely, neatly stacking her flashcards on the library’s mahogany table.

“Aye.” He gave her a sweet smile. “And that’s why you’ll be the best doctor in the world. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Hmpf.” Claire grumbled, but she surrendered to a warm grin, while he kissed her kuckles. “I’m just worried. I’ll have a practical test this week with Doctor Potter – yes, the _“male chauvinist pig”;_ I _was_ a little sloshed that night! – That will count for thirty percent of my grade this semester. I need to get it right.”

“Ye will, _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie lightly caressed her cheek. “I have nay doubt about it.” And he kissed her eager lips.

“Mister Fraser,” The librarian, a small but commanding woman called Mrs. Fitz, hissed above their heads. “As much as I admire you, do I really need to remind you that you _are_ in a library?” And striking them with an admonishing look, she roared. “No kissing!”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Fitz.” Jamie presented the middle-aged woman with a guilty and humbled look, capable of melting the stoniest heart. “But this woman makes me forget all sense of propriety.”

Claire gave him a narrow look.

“I remember how it was – being young and in love.” For a moment her eyes lost focus, her mind wandering into a land of dreams and memories. “But,” She snapped out of it. “That doesn’t allow for debauchery in this study place. Keep your tongue inside your mouth in my library!” And she moved to warn a couple of students nearby to lower their voices while talking.

“Nice move.” Claire applauded, laughing. “You almost had her. What?” She asked, noticing his look had suffered a transformation alike Mrs. Fitz’s.

“I was just wondering…” He said softly, giving her a dark and disarming glare that made her blood boil instantly, her knees weakening – luckily she was already sitting. “The potential of these enormous and verra strong tables. That plump…” He smiled with mischief. “ _Gluteus maximus_ leaning on it.”

Claire licked her lips, suddenly very dry.

“That thought just occurred to you?” She said amiably.

“Nay.” He grinned. “Actually it was a recurrent thought back then – when I admired ye from afar. I liked to watch ye – thinking, biting your lip in concentration; smiling to yourself when ye realized ye had it figured out; writing with your free hand placed in a slightly crocked way on the paper. I was content with knowing the wee mechanisms of ye.” He gave her a shy look. “But sometimes in the summer time ye’d come with a floral dress, yer naked legs all visible under the table; the curve of yer shoulders showing, so tempting. In those times I had thoughts of a….baser nature.”

They had been together for almost a month at that point – and Jamie had been nothing short of chivalrous during that time. After that first night they had slept together in his room, they had seldom find opportunity to share a bed again – and in those rare occasions they would kiss, teasingly caress the exposed skin and talk to each other in seriousness or playfulness. But he had never made any attempt or suggestion that they should push their relationship beyond the already known limits. He wanted her, Claire knew. But he was holding back – and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Do tell me more about it.”

“Perhaps someday,” He hummed near her ear. “I’ll show ye.” And he kissed her neck, the tip of his tongue darting to taste her skin.

“Mister Fraser!” Mrs. Fitz screamed behind them.

****

“Miss Beauchamp, you’re to take the medical history of the patient in curtain four. He’s complaining of abdominal pain – I’ll expect you to come and discuss differential diagnosis with me in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Doctor Potter.” She said gracefully and grabbed the chart from his hand.

As she walked in the direction of the curtain she breathed deeply, trying to find the calm centre required to practice good medicine. She gave a quick look to her white coat and identification card, making sure she was presentable – sometimes patients tended to disregard her inquiries if they didn’t think her professional or mature enough, as she clearly wasn’t a doctor yet. Claire made a mental list of questions to ask the patient – occasionally she neglected to ask about their sexual history and intestinal habits, which always drove Doctor Potter to an endless speech about the importance of a thorough anamnesis and the catastrophic outcomes expecting a _“sloppy doctor”._

“Good day sir, I’m Claire Beauchamp.” She greeted while opening the curtain, her eyes fixed on the chart. “I’m here to ask you a few questions…”

“Ask away.” Jamie’s voice replied cheerfully, making her jump. She raised her eyes to watch him happily seated on the gurney, his legs bouncing like an excited child’s.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She exclaimed, attracting the looks of nearby nurses and a couple of elderly patients. Blushing, she quickly closed the blue fabric around them, shielding them from prying eyes. “James Fraser, what are you up to?”

“Och.” He extended his hand and caressed her cheek. “Ye were so concerned with doing well with this evaluation – I just wanted to help.” Jamie shrugged.

“I imagine you’re not really sick – after all those pancakes you ate this morning you seemed in good enough health.” She gave him a wry look. “What did you tell them you were feeling?”

“Cramping in my belly. Fever. Vomiting.” He gave her a naughty smile. “I was going for the appendicitis thing, ye ken.”

“Well,” Claire glared at him. “I might end up giving you a rectal exam – or worse, Doctor Potter will - and you’ll learn your lesson. Probably won’t ever meddle with my business again.”

“Ye’re not impressed with my attempt of helping ye, I gather.” Jamie raised a brow. “At least ye can be at ease asking me yer wee questions.”

“If my professor finds out you’re my boyfriend,” Claire hissed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed the temptation of smiling. “I’ll probably fail this. _Eternally_.”

“Is that what I am?” Jamie asked slowly, his eyes serious and intent on hers. “Your boyfriend?”

“Well,” She answered in a careful tone, biting her full bottom lip. They still hadn’t had _the talk_ – it had seemed pointless to define their relationship with a label, when they were both perfectly aware of the depth of their mutual feelings. But alas – some things were meant to be said out loud, sooner or later. “We spend an awful lot of time snogging. You helped me make flashcards themed by colour. I watched an entire documentary on a man named Seneca, which I didn’t even knew had existed until a week ago. You grabbed a second pair of socks for me to wear the other night when we were studying, because you knew my feet would be cold and I can’t focus when I’m chilled. So I guess you must be my boyfriend.” Claire blushed slightly. “You know…If you want to.”

“So all it takes to hold yer heart is to make sure yer feet are warm?” He shook his head in feigned disbelief. “Ye really know how to make a lad feel special, aye?”

“You’re ruining it.” Claire folded her arms, squinting at him. “Say yes before I take it back, James Fraser.”

“Yes. God, yes!” Jamie grabbed her free hand, lacing their fingers together. “But I was hoping to be the one to ask, ye ken.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I have the pride of a man, after all.”

“That you are.” She gave a quick look around and, not finding anyone peeking through the curtain’s folds, lightly kissed him on the lips. “And that you have.”

He hugged her and nuzzled her neck, humming against her with pleasure at their contact and her scent, which was always stronger there.

“Now, can you make up some answers to my questions?” Claire asked, tapping the pen on the blank paper sheet. “I’ll skip the sexual history part.” She said haltingly, her fingers fidgeting with a curl falling over her forehead. “I’m sure I can devise something to say to Doctor Potter about it…You don’t need to tell me anything…”

“Oh, Lord.” Jamie closed his eyes in mortification and covered them with his opened palms. “That wasna really how I intended to have this conversation.” He growled. “At all.”

“What?” She swallowed hard, stopping in the process of writing down the absence of any known allergies. “Look Jamie, I knew you had a past. Everybody has one. It’s fine.”

He shook his head, still not looking at her.

“Well,” Claire continued nervously. “Is it a scandalous number, then? I’m sure with your personality and looks there were plenty of girls who…”

“No.” He removed his hands and finally looked at her, blue glinting with carefulness and – mischief? -, raising his chin in defiance. “Claire, there’s nothing to talk about - there’s no one.”

“What do you mean?” She muttered, the suddenly forgotten chart bobbing on her hands.

“I mean,” He smiled coyly. “Your recently proclaimed boyfriend is a virgin.”


	4. The Flood

_**The Flood** _

“So how did it go?” Jamie asked eagerly, as Claire joined him in the refectory for an early dinner. He had left her at the hospital with a soft kiss of good luck, as she headed to discuss his – mostly fake, mind – clinical history with Doctor Potter.

“He gave me a hard time with your differential diagnosis, but I stood my ground.” She bent to kiss him with fervour and sat with her tray next to him. “It’s an A for us, Captain.”

“Well done!” He cheered and kissed her again. “I was that bit worried, ye ken. When I left ye, ye look like ye had been struck by a sledgehammer.”

“I was a little disconcerted by our talk, I’ll admit to it.” She gave him a look under her lashes. “You are full of surprises, Jamie.”

“You never asked before.” He smiled and shrugged, munching his peas. She hawked.

“Why did you decide to…” She gave him an embarrassed look. “You know – wait. Clearly it wasn’t a problem of lack of possible suitors.”

“I dinna felt that strongly about them.” He gave her a shy smile. “Women can be very frightening, ye ken. Like you, when someone in line before ye orders the last piece of blueberry pie ye were coveting.”

“Oh, shut up!” Claire gave him a narrow look. “I really _was_ asking a question, you know.”

“It wasn’t so much that I _decided.”_ He said slowly. “More that I’ve never met a lass that made me want to give her that last piece of myself. To be so vulnerable…so exposed. I’ve never dated anyone that I trusted with my soul.”

“That’s very romantic.” She said with amusement, but honesty resounded in her voice too. “Most men think sex is just mechanics and chemical reactions happening in the body, mostly in the nether regions.”

“I flatter myself to think I’m not _most_ men.” Jamie gave her a one-sided smile. “When a man lays with a woman…almost always he can overpower her. He has the physical strength to command her if he wants to. And so a woman relinquishing her body requires trust – that the man won’t abuse that power. When a man takes a woman he loves, he bares his soul as well as his body – and without any shields between them she can break him entirely, just there and then, if she isna worthy of such trust.”

“Did your father teach you that?” Claire asked.

“Aye.” Jamie nodded. “In a way. He also taught me that a moment of bodily pleasure can echo in eternity. My father encouraged me to envision myself with that particular woman in twenty years afore deciding if I really wanted to bed her – if I couldna see it or if the sight was too daunting, I had my answer and should keep my cock well hidden inside my pants.”

“And how do you see yourself with me in twenty years?” Claire asked playfully, but fear gripped her belly. Jamie’s big and warm right hand enfolded hers and his left touched her cheek with tenderness and – _yes_ – want.

“Just like this.” He nuzzled her nose with his own, his lips brushing the tip at the end. “Maybe with a bairn or two sitting next to us. You – perhaps wearing a fancy suit - but the same face I have loved since the day I first saw it. And at night we’ll go home and I’ll whisper you silly things in the darkness of our bed, while I love your body. I see my entire life with ye, Claire – and I can’t wait for it.”

He ended his declaration by kissing her, making her purr with pleasure, her bones melting with the prospect of a lifetime together – and the implicit recognition that he wished to made love to her.

They ate peacefully for a little while, but Jamie kept throwing her charged looks. She knew he meant to ask something, probably a question that made him deeply uncomfortable.

“You…Did you…” He cleared his throat and drank thirstily from his glass of water. “When…I mean, if you wanted to tell me…” He looked at her, helplessly trying to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Are you asking me how it was for me?” Claire asked with amusement, enhanced by the sudden appearance of a rosy colour on his cheeks. “How I lost my virginity?”

“Yes.” He answered between teeth, peeking above his shoulder to watch for anyone close enough to eavesdrop. They were sitting almost alone in the refectory – it was still early for most students to appear searching for their dinner.

“Well,” She started, her fingers brushing aside a stubborn lock of brown hair. “It was alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” He repeated, his finger fidgeting with the spoon.

“Do you really want me to tell you the practicalities of it?” Claire asked, raising a brow in his direction, slightly outraged.

“No.” Jamie answered hurriedly, almost spitting his soup. “I just thought that…maybe it was more than alright.”

Claire glared at him intently, slowly chewing her roasted chicken.

“I enjoyed it.” She finally said a clipped tone. “But not because of any particular skills he had or some other mind-blowing notions. I liked it because I felt connected – I had been lonely for so long. I thought I had find something that could last; where I could belong. That’s where pleasure was for me – the _first_ time at least.” She gave him a little smile.

“Were you together for long?” Jamie asked slowly.

“About six months.” Claire sighed. “It was complicated.”

“Was he your classmate?” He pressed with a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Back in high school maybe?”

“No.” She started to bite on her red apple. “He was friends with my uncle, obsessed with history type of guy. An assistant professor – he actually teaches here. In History department.”

Jamie’s mouth stood ajar, the small and blue vein on his temple starting to throb violently.

“Is he, by any chance, that…” He croaked. “… _perky_ little man always wearing a suit that sometimes comes and talks to ye in the library? Always staring at your cleavage like he lost a damned coin in there?”

“He doesn’t _stare_ at my cleavage!” Claire highlighted, giving him an amber look of reproach. “But – yes, that’s him. His name is Frank Randall.”

“Are you serious?” Jamie almost screamed. A couple of students – colleagues from Jamie’s rugby team that were approaching their table to salute him and maybe sit with them - quickly detoured to a distant table, hearing the threat of his explosion. “Do you really expect me to sit here and listen how you…you… _shagged_ ” Jamie’s lips turned into an angry line and Claire’s face puckered hearing him. “A much older man and still give him a pass to drool all over you, even when ye’re with me?”

“Well,” She hissed. “If you don’t want to sit you can get up and leave, then. You seem to have finished your dinner already. God knows you’re making a fool of yourself in here, James Fraser.”

“Maybe it’s ye that’s making me look like a fool.” He spat the words, his fingers shredding the paper napkin.

“Oh, me?” Claire gave him a harsh laugh. “I’m the one that has to deal with your fans – I can’t even go to the bloody bathroom without receiving nasty looks and whispers - _“Oh, there she goes. Oh, what scandalous things did she have to do to get him? Oh, King of Men could do so much better!””_ She impersonated with an affected voice, which seemed weirdly like Annalise’s. “I have to stand by and watch every blonde thing talking about your ass and the size of your balls in those rugby shorts, but suddenly you’re the one being fooled!” She shook her head, rage and disappointment making her eyes glassy with tears. “And all of this because I dared to have a past!”

Claire suddenly got up, carrying her tray. She placed it in the proper container and stormed outside, almost stepping back with the force of the wind that was starting to blow outside.

Jamie appeared behind her and held her elbow, pushing her with him to a quiet corner in the shadow of the building. Students were beginning to converge in a crowd, like kites flowing propelled by the aroma of food.  

“Why are you being like this?” She accused, her golden eyes blazing.

“He has something of ye that I will never have!” Jamie’s hands closed around her arms, gripping her. “You shared something so intimate with him… He knows ye in a way that I don’t and that makes my wame curl and boil!” He roared. “I could kill him right now for daring to touch you!”

“If you think that because I went to bed with him, he knows me in any way better than you…” She fought against tears, carelessly brushing her eyes with her sweater’s sleeve. “You haven’t been paying much attention.”

“He saw you!” He grunted. “All of you! Frank was the first man to take you. He kissed your neck, touched your breast, he…” He avoided her gaze. “Tasted you. You moaned his name in passion. Please, promise me you won’t talk to him again!”

“I’ll make no such promise!” Claire exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. “I won’t pretend I don’t know him just to soothe your damaged ego, James Fraser.” And then with her voice breaking. “You haven’t touch me like that because you wanted to wait – to be sure. I have been waiting for _you_ , Jamie. You can erase every memory of him.”

“I need ye to promise me, Claire.” He repeated, almost pleaded. His eyes were dark blue, like bottomless oceans, too deep to allow any light.

“You are my boyfriend.” She said. “You are not my owner, damn you!”

And she yanked her arms from his grasp and headed to her dorm, all the happiness she had felt one hour ago suddenly eclipsed.

****

Claire was lying on her stomach in bed, listening to the rain tapping outside, water rivulets drifting down the window. She needed to study - the next day she had another quiz and she still needed to catch up on the characteristics of different heart murmurs. It was useless to try while she was on such stormy mood; her concentration failed her, leaving her even more troubled - and guilty to boot.

Her white phone vibrated – again - announcing an incoming call. She turned it and watched the flicker of light, reading _“Jamie”._ It was accompanied by a photo of him, which she had taken with her phone a couple of weeks before – he had been laying in the grass, with golden shadows playing in his eyes and his wide smile. It was almost achingly beautiful and she frequently fell asleep holding her phone, gazing longingly at it.

He had called five times in the last half hour. She hadn’t answer it – she was still very mad and wanted to show him his primitive behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated – or forgiven – with such easiness.

The phone eventually stopped buzzing, only to appear a message _“Please, answer me”_. She had just put it down when it started vibrating again. She tried to cover her head with her pillow, but eventually she grabbed it and slid the finger to answer it.

“Would you please stop calling me, I really don’t want to talk…” She hissed to the phone.

“ _Claire_.” Jamie’s voice returned from the other side of the line. His tone was contained, but she immediately identified the devastation buried underneath it. It made her entire body shook with irrational fear. “ _Please_ , Claire. I need you.”

“Where are you?” She asked, her lips feeling numb.

“Outside.” He answered in a hoarse voice and hang up the phone.

Claire opened her room’s door and rushed down the stairs, barely noticing the steps flying under her bared feet. Her entire mind and body were focused on reaching Jamie, finding him and holding him. She knew that something had happened – something terrible, capable of crushing the most solid and lively man she had ever known.

She opened the front door and for a moment only registered the storm outside – rain falling like a reenaction of the Great Flood, finally there to erase everything and make the world start all anew, sinners dying in the arms of saints so the world could be cured. Thunder rolled not far away – the air was filled with the faint smell of ozone, clinging to her nose and filling her mouth with the taste of destruction.

He was standing in the middle of the street, in the space that separated their buildings, no more than a shadow amongst shadows. When he saw her, he walked to her with uncertain steps, as if he could barely summon enough strength to cover the small distance. Claire noticed he was on his shirtsleeves and wasn’t wearing a coat – he must have rushed out of his room too.

When she finally could distinguish his features, she saw the endless drops that slid across his high cheekbones – not only rain, but tears that stream from his haunted blue eyes; salted water mixing with heavenly outpour. Her chest felt tight, a band of sorrow already lodging itself around her heart.

He stopped when only a step separated them. Claire noticed he was shaking badly, cold and strong emotion firing every nerve’s terminal.

“My father is dead.” He whispered to her in a cracked voice, as he drowned in the flood.


	5. Orphans

_**Orphans** _

Claire took his hand and guided him back to his dorm, emitting meaningless soothing sounds – he followed her like a compliant small child. She wished she could take him to her room; but her roommate would arrive soon and they needed a safe place to talk, away from her prying green eyes.

Mr. Culpepper was on the front desk – he opened his mouth to stop Claire from trespassing male territory, but then he saw Jamie walking behind her, his head bent down. Even though he had stopped crying, his entire demeanour showed that something was profoundly wrong – his usually straight shoulders were curved, his eyes were red and puffy and his clothes were completely soaked. The doorkeeper looked at Claire, puzzled, and she slightly shook her head. He nodded in subtle agreement and let them pass without saying a word.

They arrived at Jamie’s room. As Claire opened the door – Jamie’s hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t manage to hold the keys – she saw Ian waiting inside. His eyes were red too, as if he had been crying – he certainly had been made aware of the devastating news. A childhood friend to Jamie and neighbour to the estate of Lallybroch, he was very intimate with Brian Fraser and his family.  

Ian glared at Jamie, whose eyes were locked on the wooden floor – Claire knew he was trying to focus on something – anything – that would keep him functioning momentarily. Until he could break. _Alone_.

“I’ll stay with Angus tonight.” Ian whispered to Claire, touching her shoulder. “Will ye stay here with him, Claire? He needs ye.”

“Of course.” She gulped. “I won’t leave his side.”

Ian nodded, reassured. He gave Jamie a last look, as if he meant to speak to him, but something forbade him at the last minute. He grabbed his grey backpack and raincoat from the floor and exited, leaving them alone. Claire briefly saw the glimpse of a tear before he managed to completely close the door.

They stood in a silence pregnant with unspoken words, until Claire moved and touched his wide chest – right above his heart, still beating strongly. He was shaking rather fiercely, his lips almost blue. She could see the droplets of water sliding down his face and throat and feel the coldness embedded in his skin – so distant from his usual uncanny warmth.

“Do you want to shower?” She asked him softly. “You’re freezing. You can get sick if you stay like this.”

He tilted his head in a gesture that could be taken as acceptance or merely as disinterest. His eyes were dull and fixed in a point above her shoulder – it was as if his soul had left his body and wandered back to meet his father’s.

Claire gently held his hand and conducted him to the adjacent bathroom – for a moment his eyes trembled and she thought he would scream or cry out. But he stayed silent and allowed her to open the water tap, the steam of the heated water drifting around them like a protective veil.

She patiently waited for him to start to shed his clothes – but he made no gesture to do so. Claire wondered briefly if he had any notion of his surroundings or even of her presence.

Sighing, she started to undress him, pulling off his blue sweater - her own hands shaking with fear and heartbreak, properly aware of the forced intimacy of undressing him for the first time under such circumstances. She got rid of most of his clothes – Jamie standing like a pliable mannequin – until he stood only in his underwear. His skin was crawling with gooseflesh and for the first time he looked small to her – small and utterly lost.

Struggling with the idea of baring him completely when he was barely conscious, she guided him to stand in the shower, directly beneath the torrent of streaming water. He gasped and started to struggle when the water hit his skin, but she called his name in a calm voice and he stilled.

Claire almost stood in the shower with him, her skilled hands tenderly helping him, applying soap and shampoo to wash him with the care of a recent mother.

Eventually she got him to the bedroom again, finding a pair of baggy sweat pants and t-shirt she thought would be appropriate for him to wear – and to her relief he slowly started to help, even riding himself of the soaked boxers while she blatantly looked away for a moment.

When he was fully clothed, she helped him to lay down in bed. Giving him a concerned look, she briefly stepped into the bathroom to change to something dry and quickly came back to his side, the room lighted by the lamp on his nightstand and the thunder outside.

Jamie was laying on his side – and she moved to lay next to him, noticing a tear streaming down his face, his eyes locked on something directly behind her. She peeked above her shoulder and saw a framed picture, her own eyes flooding with tears.

Jamie had been much younger then – probably twelve of thirteen. He was standing next to a tall man, his hair dark as the feathers of a crow – and glowing across the stillness of time, were the same slanted blue eyes, enhanced by the creases brought by age and from smiling so widely.

Claire reached with her arm and carefully hugged him, desperately seeking something to say – she needed to talk or the unsaid words of sorrow would choke them both.

“My parents died when I was five.” She said in a low voice. “I don’t remember them much. Only bits and pieces, really.” She licked her lips, noticing a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “The smell of my father’s shaving cream. The ring with a blue stone my mother always wore on her index right finger. How I’d open my eyes on a Sunday morning and listen to my mother singing in the kitchen, while she made us French toast. The kiss my father gave me in bed the night they died.” She swallowed hard. “Above all I remember knowing they were _there_ \- being loved. And I remember how it felt to have that ripped away from me – how I never felt safe for years after that.” Her voice turned into a whisper, in the cover of darkness. “Always afraid I’d love again – and lose again.”

Jamie moved his hand, seeking hers, even if his eyes were still somewhere far away. She offered it and their fingers entwined.

“I tried not to think about them often.” She gave him a sad smile. “It hurt too much to recall the things I once had – how their existence could have been completely erased from this earth; how I had been powerless to stop that from happening. How I sometimes wished I was with them in that car.” She breathed deeply. “It’s like living a life I wasn’t meant to live – to travel on a road for which I have no map, no guidance. No one to tell me I’m doing alright; no one to warn me when I’m about to crash.”

She tentatively touched his face.

“But the thing is – eventually I was able to recall them with more joy than sorrow. I learned how to feel the pain, but take it with the love they gave me while we were together. I realized they were only truly gone when I allowed them to be.”

“Claire.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and fragmented, their eyes finally meeting. “Oh, God.”

And he started to shake again, his teeth rattling with might, like he was standing in a glacier built by the ice in his soul.

But she knew he was shaking not from cold, but from devastation – from the recently found emptiness that threatened to dissolve him from the inside out, every particle of him returning to the nothingness of a black hole.

Locking away every notion of embarrassment or self-doubt, she sat up only to take away her oversized sweater – one of Jamie’s. Her bra had been soaked after the rain and her ministrations during his bath, so she was completely bared underneath it. Not knowing what exactly she was offering – but certain it was the right thing to do – she pulled him against her chest, until his face was placed right above her naked breasts.

Only human touch – the realness of a body he loved, serving as a guiding siren – could keep him grounded enough to avoid that he slipped away entirely. He needed to feel her through his pain – and know that something was still awaiting outside the borders of grieving. The immediacy of her life was the only weapon she could wield for him; the sword she would brandish to cast away the shadow of death.

“I canna….” He whispered, his voice caught in his throat. “I can’t take it, Claire. I can’t go on. I don’t know how to do it.”

“You will.” She soothed him, caressing his back with soft movements. “I am so sorry, Jamie.”

“My father is dead.” Jamie repeated, as if saying the words again could alter their meaning, shaping reality with the brush of his hope. “He is gone.”

“Yes.” She sobbed, tears liberally escaping her eyes and landing on her chest, moistening his hair.

“Hold me.” Jamie pleaded.  “Hold me, _mo nighean donn_.”

“I’m here.” Claire kissed his brow and his temple – her kisses searing him with the protection of her love. “I will never leave you, Jamie. I’m here.”

“I wasna there!” He sobbed, emotions ragging through him, finally breaking him apart. “My father died and I was here, away from home. I wasna there to bide him goodbye!”

“It’s alright. He knows.” She lulled him, slowly rocking them both. “He knows you love him.”

“Every memory of him is burning inside me.” He choked. “I’m trying sae hard to grasp them between my fingers, afraid that I’ll lose any of them – for they are now more precious than life itself. They are everything I’ll have of him ever again.”

“You’ll remember.” Claire guaranteed, stroking his hair, his tears moistening her exposed skin, combining with her own. “As I do.”

“Everything hurts.” Jamie whispered. And sobs began to wreck his body, like a man standing in a battlefield - his chest a flowerbed of blossoming bullets, made of loss and yearning. He cried and talked in turns, assertions of love and anger, sometimes both only in one word.

Claire was almost naked, cradling him against her heart – but he was the one most exposed, bared into the infinitesimal essence that compounded his being; the boy he had been for his father and the orphan he had become without him. She cried with him, for the tyranny of his pain and hers - so ancient and yet ever so present.

She held him, her arms locked tightly around him. She held on throughout the night, struggling to breathe between the waves of desolation that crushed against him, threatening to cast them apart. She held on – knowing that her loving arms were the only thing keeping him whole.

****

Claire opened her eyes to see the grey light of dawn reflecting in the millions of suspended particles. Her eyes felt bruised and battered – her mouth dry and bitter. Jamie was not by her side, she noted immediately – he had covered her torso with a blanket before leaving her.

She struggled to get up and put on her discarded sweater. When she was about to go looking for him, he stepped out of the bathroom.

He had clipped his hair short – _very short_. It was an ancient way of showing grief and she deeply understood his need – to cut, to shed layer upon layer, to physically display how his life had been altered forever. How he was not the same man – how suffering had carved him into something different. His eyes were dry, yet red and swollen. His cheeks seemed more pronounced, like he had already lost weight – a paleness about him that enhanced his beauty.

“I have to leave in a couple of hours.” He said, his voice ragged but steady. “To Lallybroch – for the burial.”

“I’m coming with you.” Claire said, scrambling to get her things. “I’ll go to my room and pack a few things, I’ll be quick.”

“Ye don’t need to.” He said, his palm cupping her face. “Ye have classes to attend to – it could hurt yer grades if you leave now.” Jamie swallowed. “I’ll be alright – Ian is coming with me.”

“I don’t care about college right now! My place is by your side.” She touched his cheek, subtly tracing the dark circles under his eyes. “Wherever you are – that’s where I’ll be.”


	6. Requiem

_**Requiem** _

Jamie was crushing her hand with his, but she didn’t say a word. She would gladly be transformed into dust if that provided him any solace. Claire had seen him break completely and had helped him gather the pieces just enough the last couple of days – so he could be there for his sister and the grieving community of Lallybroch’s estate. Brian Fraser’s sudden passing, victim of a stroke  – Death coming to reap him mercilessly, while he walked in the field behind his own house – had come as a shock for everyone, not only his children.

_“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”_

They were standing at Lallybroch’s cemetery, surrounded by silent people dressed in black. The sky was grey, the air clear and cutting, like a knife made of Scottish ice – making the words of the priest echo around them with the force of the coming winter.

_“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”_

Jamie was clad in a grey shirt and coat with black trousers, his blue eyes dry and hooded, bravely looking ahead to the dark hollow about to receive the body of his father. His right arm was placed around Jenny’s shoulders, comforting her – her face was a flowing river of sorrow. But his left hand betrayed the undercurrent of overwhelming emotions, gripping Claire’s hand in a silent plea for strength and salvation.

_“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”_

Her eyes drifted to the grave next to the place chosen for Brian’s eternal rest, the polished stone carved by skilled hands many years before - _“Ellen Caitriona Sileas MacKenzie Fraser”,_ it read, _“Etiam in morte, superset amor”._ Claire had enough Latin from her upbringing by Uncle Lamb to know what it meant and tears threatened to overpower her eyes. In the deep unfairness of death, seemed only right that they were about to be reunited for eternity.  – _“In death, love survives.”_

The priest had stopped talking, waiting for the family’s prepared eulogy. Jamie gently let go of Jenny, offering her hand to Ian, standing by her side as her silent keeper. He stepped ahead and stood near the dark brown casket, his throat visible as he swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice.

Slowly he fished inside his coat’s pocket and presented a silver flask, which he uncorked with a dextrous hand. He tipped it just slightly, so the amber liquid stored inside spilled over the casket; his father’s favourite whiskey to accompany him on his long journey home.

_“This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be. Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.”_ He declaimed with a hoarse but clear voice. _“Slàinte mhath, mo athair.”_

****

Claire was looking at the self-portrait of Ellen Mackenzie under the cover of the shadows in the hallway, wondering if Brian had joined her in the afterlife and how she had greeted the love of her life. Would she tell him harsh words for leaving his children unattended and yet so young? Would she be happy to see him, having longed for him for so many years? Would they live together in a similar yet parallel Lallybroch, where they could see Jamie and Jenny – sometimes brushing their hair while they slept or touching them in a whisper, feeling their sadness?

A loud crash collected her from her stupor and she rushed to Jamie’s room, the source of the sudden disturbance.

She abruptly opened the door and saw Jamie, sitting on the floor, cradling himself. A few steps away a frame laid broken on the ground, shards of glass glistening like seeds of a lost life, the face of his father still visible even through the wreckage. Claire moved to catch the debris, but Jamie’s head turned to her, his eyes as dark and cloudy as the sky anticipating a coming hurricane.

“Leave it!” He snapped at her. “Leave it, damn ye!”

“Alright.” Claire answered, slowly straightening herself while she gave him a concerned look. “I know…”

“Do ye?” He gritted his teeth, his hand raising to shield his thunderous eyes, brushing them with his palms. “Do ye really?”

“Yes.” She assured him in a low voice. “I know the irrational anger. The will to lash out, to pour some of that darkness out so you can feel somehow lighter – to make someone else experience at least a fraction of the pain you’re feeling. To not be alone and in pain.” Claire sat down on the floor across him, squeezing her fingers. “And you aren’t… _Alone_.” She finished with a whisper.

Jamie looked at her, tears beginning to stream down his face. He probably didn’t even feel them at that point – his skin insensible to the subtle touch, while his whole body was struggling to make sense of so much pain without a physical wound it could heal. There was no clot that could be formed to stop the bleeding; no fever to kill the spreading infection. Only tremendous pain – and no promise of an ending in sight.

“I’m sorry, _mo ghraidh_.” He said in a broken voice, while his body slid even further to the ground, his eyes locked in the broken frame. “I’m sorry for lashing out – I dinna ken what I’m about.”

“I know.” Claire said softly. “It’s alright. You can tell me anything.”

“Loss is no stranger to me.” He gulped. “How could it be? I lost my mother when I was only a bairn and my brother Willie even before that. I have no illusions that _“forever”_ means no more than a few precious and fleeting moments. But my father…” Jamie shook his hair, his fingers fidgeting with a piece of fluff from his trousers.

“You thought you had more time.” Claire added gently.

“Aye.” He smiled and there was more sadness in the lines of his mouth, than in the tears that still spilled from his torn soul. “He wanted me to come back after College, ye ken. To replace him as head of the business here. The last time I came home – before we started dating – we had an argument.” Jamie’s hand moved to brush his hair, still not used to the loss of its length. “I told him I wanted to have my own life, to put to use the things I’m learning. He wasna very pleased with me. And I lost my temper – we yelled at each other and said hurtful things, mostly untrue.”

“I’m sure he forgave you.” Claire said. “You were both hot-headed – both loving each other and not knowing how to show it best.”

“Perhaps he did.” He whispered. “But how can I ever forgive myself, Claire? That the last words I told him were angry ones, reckless as a pistol brandished by a drunkard?”

Claire scooted on the floorboards to get closer to him, until they were sitting side by side.

“I was there today.” She entwined their fingers. “The last words you told him were about love. And even when you were screaming at each other, I’m sure he knew it just as well.”

“He made me what I am.” Jamie closed his eyes. “His care and love shaped me – he was my conscience and the first home of my heart. I feel so lost, Claire. I want sae badly to make him proud.”

“And you will.” Claire touched his moist cheek, feeling the reverberations of pain coming from him. “He will be so proud of the man you’re becoming, Jamie.”

His head slowly fell on her shoulder, his face contorted in a silent sob hidden against her arm. She hugged him by the neck, humming, willing him to share his burden with her.

“Come lay your head, man.” She whispered, as darkness surrounded them.

****

They were laying on his bed, fully clothed. The moon was already shining outside and the wind was howling against the window, a feast of inhuman sounds that felt like words which had lost their meaning across distant times.

She was holding him, his breathing much more peaceful now. She knew he wasn’t sleeping though – his heart was thundering against her own ribcage.

“I’m sorry.” Jamie said in a husky voice near her ear. “For what I said before – about Frank.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She brushed his short hair with her fingers. “We don’t need to talk about it now.”

“Aye. I do.” He played with a curl near her neck. “Such foolish words. I was jealous of all the kisses you shared, all the times he loved your body. I failed to listen when ye told me ye wished to give me so much more than that.”

“I want you to have everything, Jamie.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “He had my body but we never really connected – not like this. He never saw me as you’ve seen me.”

“I know I’m not yer owner, Claire.” He nuzzled her collarbone. “And I won’t ask ye not to see him again. I’ll never like the sight of the man, mind – but I’ll respect yer past. I trust ye, _mo nighean donn._ ”

“Do you?”

“Aye.” He raised his head and she saw his face leaning over her, the seriousness of his eyes, intent on hers. “I loved ye before – ye had all my heart. But now…” He traced the outline of her temple and cheek, the touch of his thumb light as feather. “Ye alone have cradled my soul against yer breast. I have found light in the utmost darkness though yer voice – you guided me away from insanity. And I shall worship ye and pay reverence for the rest of my days.”

“I love you, Jamie.” Claire whispered, kissing his lips. “And watching you here, in your home, trying to be so brave for your sister; so fiercely loyal to your father…I’d choose you again and again – had I not surrendered my heart to you so long ago, even before I knew you were willing to take it.”

He rolled to have her atop of him, enveloping her body in his arms, kissing her eagerly while his hands roamed across her back and waist.

“Will you let me in?” She asked, slightly breathless. “If you don’t think…”

“I want ye, Claire.” He sighed. “Come and heal me, _mo ghraidh._ Come and steal away my pain – and let me take away yours. In your arms I am healed again – nothing hurts; nothing is truly lost. _”_

He undressed her, piece by piece, marvelling with the whiteness of her skin. Jamie kissed every hollow of her body, every curve and slope, every nook – feeling her inebriating scent, the pulse of her life coursing beneath the skin. He cherished each moan, the promise of love shared and absolution found. His hands memorized the shape of her, allowing her to discover him with equal openness, exposed but protected by the cloak of her love.

She kissed the shadow of his tears, held his trembling hand – fortifying it with her own. Her mouth kept seeking his, tasting the words he would repeat again and again only for her. She guided him when he was unsure, but let him set the pace – and when they were joined, she smiled like the stars outside were finally within her reach.

They moved together like waves crashing against the shore, tender at times and yet capable of reshaping the earth. He held nothing back, summoned no coherent thoughts – his actions were dictated by the need to lose himself, finding her – _only her, always her_ \- in the process.

When he was inside her, he listened to the whimpers and sobs that she made, made a collection of her lovely sounds, archived them with the strings of his heart.

He loved her. _God, he loved her._ A love without any restraint – he wished only to stay like that, with her, _in her_ , for the rest of his life.

Afterwards they were naked, wrapped around each other, a strange calm overpowering his troubled heart. And as she gave over to a contented sleep, he began to believe in forever again.

“ _Mo anam_.” Jamie whispered. “My soul.”


	7. Our Shared Skin

_**Our Shared Skin** _

“If Mrs. Fitz finds us doing _this_ , please be kind enough to slice my throat.” Claire moaned. “I don’t think I would survive the embarrassment.”

“Do ye want me to stop?” Jamie asked, his voice breathless, and she felt his wicked smile against the sensitive skin of her thigh. “I dinna wish to go over yer morals, _mo nighean donn_. But ye looked so lovely with yer hair curling about yer face, biting yer lip while ye read yer wee book…I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Jamie…” She hummed, as he lightly bit her in a provocative way. “Morals are so overrated. But I never dreamt of being shagged in the Philosophy section of the library.”

Jamie came up and kissed her burning lips, his hands seeking the comforting grip of her bottom, squeezing it in a possessive way.

“It’s the most secluded area. Seems like no one cares for Socrates and Nietzsche anymore.” He gave her an amused look, his blue eyes blazing with mischief behind the black frame of his eyeglasses. “Would ye prefer somewhere riskier, is that it? A bit of danger to perk things up?”

“I’d think this _is_ dangerous enough.” Claire puffed, giggling as he kissed a ticklish spot on her neck. “People are sitting just _there_ , barely twenty feet away from us. But seems a bit disrespectful for ye to be grabbing my arse just in front of these great minds.”

“Ye can close yer eyes and think of something else.” Jamie’s hands roamed to her waist, swiftly lifting her jumper just enough so he could insert his hands against her heated skin. “As long as ye dinna think of _anyone_ else.” He added on second thought.

She snorted, her hands taking hold of the shelf behind her, as he pressed his body against her. She could feel the intensity of his arousal and it wasn’t helping her recover reasonable thinking. They had been doing a study marathon, as their midterm exams were approaching – the library was crawling with desperate and borderline maniac students. She was fairly anxious herself; her readings were very behind after spending time at Lallybroch and supporting Jamie after his father’s passing. But she had caught Jamie - looking beautiful and incandescent amongst the chaos of pens, books and highlighters - staring at her in an intent manner, as if she was already naked in front of him. He had smiled and had given her one dark look above the rim of the eyeglasses he now used for reading and she had been powerless to resist the urge to an impromptu make out session.

“God, I want ye sae badly.” His accent was getting thicker by the minute, a clear indication of the loss of any control he had left. He brushed his lips against her earlobe, whispering, while he caressed her breast with a dextrous hand. “Between Geillis and Ian tagging along, I barely touched ye for a week. I think I’m going mad.”

“You seemed to survive well enough in abstinence for almost twenty years.” She laughed, her hands gripping his broad shoulders. “And now you can’t go a week without having sex?”

“Aye.” Jamie groaned. “ _Survive_ is the accurate word. And it’s far easier to live without something, when ye dinna really ken what ye’re missing. Now that I know what is like to lay with you…” He shook his head with fervour. “I can’t stand being without it.”

He kissed her lips - their tongues colliding like meteors in the sky, sparkles falling to the stratosphere like alien fireworks - and they swayed, their efforts supported by the solid bookcase behind them.

“What if someone comes?” Claire asked weakly, but her traitorous fingers were already fumbling with his trousers, searching to release him to meet her need.

“I’m sure any lad would give one good look at ye and be in complete solidarity with my reckless actions.” Jamie answered, as he lifted her in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. He moved his hand to take off his eyeglasses before they came between them in their exertions, but Claire stopped him.

“No.” She blushed. “Leave them on. It’s quite…different. Intriguing.”

He laughed and slid inside her with the vibration of his body, making them moan against each other’s mouths. Jamie started to move inside her, Claire in a perilous equilibrium between his own body and the books behind her. Her nostrils were filled with the smell of him, apples and sandalwood, mixed with the dust of books too long asleep, craving for the touch of a reader.

“What did you say?” He gasped in her ear, moving ever so faster, ever so deeper. Claire had her eyes wide open, dreamily fixed on the ancient ceiling, as if it would rip itself open to show her the stars she was about to reach.

“ _Wisdom begins in wonder_.” She sighed. “Socrates.”

“In that case, Sassenach…” Jamie hummed. “Ye shall make me the wisest man that ever was.”

****

Jamie opened his eyes, immediately feeling that Claire wasn’t beside him. She had fallen asleep locked in his arms the night before, after making love – both thoroughly enjoying the opportunity of having Jamie’s room to themselves, as Ian was visiting Jenny for the weekend.

He twisted his neck and watched as Claire exited the adjoining bathroom, leaning hesitantly against the doorframe.

“What are ye doing up? Get back to bed, _mo ghraidh_.” Jamie grumbled in a sleepy voice, lazily waving his hand to the space next to him.

Claire slowly walked to him, hugging her slim body with her arms, as if to shield herself. She was wearing one of his oversized blue sweatshirts, his favourite outfit for her - he loved to watch her in them, knowing she felt safe surrounded by his perfume, intimate enough to wear them without asking for his consent. It marked her as _his._ It meant he was _hers_.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her foot nervously dangling in the air, watching as his eyes fought against sleep, peeking curiously at her.

“Jamie.” She finally said. “Jamie, I’m late.”

“How can ye be late, lass?” He smiled, giving his luminous alarm clock a quick glance. “It’s barely dawn. I still have a couple of hours before practice, so…”

“Not that.” She gulped and gave him a helpless look. Her voice came out low but quick, as if she was about to burst with the words that were forming inside her. “My period is late.”

Well, if she ever needed to wake him from deep slumber that would do the trick nicely enough – he reacted like a man called to arms, sitting up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Late?” He breathed out, his hand immediately searching hers. “Are ye sure?”

“Yes.” Claire answered, nervously playing with his fingers. “I’m one of those eerily regular women. It’s just a couple of days but…” She looked into his eyes, seeking his understanding and support. “It had never happened before.”

“But we were careful.” Jamie whispered, lacing his fingers with hers. But, as he said the words, all colour was draining from his cheeks. “Well, maybe in Lallybroch we…hm…”

“Yes. And in the library too.” Clare brushed the mass of wild curly hair away from her face. “We were in a bit of a hurry.”

“Aye.” Jamie swallowed hard, his fingers brushing her face, wrinkles of concern forming on the corners of his mouth. “It’s all my fault, Claire. It was my responsibility to make sure ye were safe.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She shook her hands, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m a medical student, Jamie. And the more experienced one here. I can’t blame you for this – I should have known better. I should have started taking a birth control pill right away.”

“Claire.” He said in a soft voice and his fingers tilted her chin, making sure she met his gaze. “We are together, aye? We share the joy, the passion and the pleasure – we must share the hardships. Yer blame is my blame, _mo nighean donn_.” He kissed her palm and then her slightly crooked little finger, which he always found so endearing.

“I’m scared, Jamie.” Claire admitted, their fingers entwining together. “If I’m pregnant…everything will change. We are both in college, for Christ’s sake! How would we raise a child?” She finished heatedly, tears shining in her amber eyes.

“I will take care of ye.” Jamie grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to his embrace, her face coming to rest on the curve of his neck. He was still warm and tender from sleep, the hair on his nape slightly moist – he felt like home embodied on a male figure. “That I promise ye, Claire. No matter what happens – I’ll see that ye and the child are well taken care of.”

“But you have classes too and the team!” She protested, struggling a little against his soothing arms, desperately trying to make him understand the magnitude of the hopelessness she was feeling, her insides crashing and revolting like an angry sea creature.

“I’ll drop out if I must.” He said serious, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ll get a job - maybe even two - to earn enough for the wean and for keeping you in yer studies.”

“I can’t let you do that!” She protested vehemently. “This is your dream and…”

“No.” He stopped her, kissing the top of her head. “I like it well enough and would feel bad to leave it. But no, this is not my dream – a life with you is. But ye, my Claire…” He smiled, tenderness and pride shining in his eyes. “Ye need to be a doctor. Ye were born one, long before ye came here. I won’t let ye lose that part of yourself, that we both cherish so much.”

“Jamie.” She said, looking into his eyes, tenderness and devotion filling the black hole of fear inside her heart. “I do love you.”

“I ken that.” He smiled, his hands burying themselves on the mass of her hair. “As I love ye.”

“But a baby…” She almost sobbed against him. “It’s too soon. We are still getting to know each other. We haven’t even talked about it - if we would like to have children one day.”

Jamie glanced at her and scooted to lie down, taking her with him. His big and warm hand roamed across her body and gently came to rest on her still flat belly.

“I never thought of myself as a father.” He admitted. He moved his hand – just enough, like a question of the flesh – and Claire couldn’t help but to feel a strange sense of certainty, of something greater than her falling into its rightful place; like the palm of his hand had belonged there since forever, sheltering the invisible child that was nothing but a possibility living in her mind and in his heart. “But _yer_ child…I could love. _Yer_ child I would _want_ , with every breath that exists in my body.” He finished with a husky voice.

“I’ll buy a test.” Claire whispered. “And I’ll do it tonight.”

“Aye.” He nodded, their foreheads coming to rest together on the pillow. “And I’ll be here, next to ye – right where I belong.”


	8. Rivals

_**Rivals** _

“Are ye sure ye’ll be alright?” Jamie asked, concerned. He rubbed Claire’s fingers, still slightly trembling, as they sneaked behind Mr.Culpepper’s back to head out of the male dorm.

“Perfectly alright.” She offered him an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Pretty sure I can manage to navigate my way to the pharmacy. I won’t let you get late for practice. I know how decisive the next few weeks will be.”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded. “With the Championships coming we must come together as a team. Actually, the coach will be drafting a new team member today – we are in dire need of a decent scrum half.” His gaze drifted away, as if he was already seeing the players crossing the field, human weapons meant for cheering and building uplifting victories, not for destruction. Eventually his eyes regained focus, he smiled and gently placed his big hand on the curve of her back. “But ye are my priority, Sassenach. I can call and let them know I’ll be running late.”

“No need to.” Claire gave him a light peck on the lips. “I’ll go and get it. Then I’ll go watch you train and attend to my cheerleading duties.” She flared her nostrils, like a slightly annoyed mare contemplating a particularly stubborn fly. “God knows there is enough of _that_ , even without me – but I know you like to have me there, supporting you.”

They shared one final embrace, inhaling each other soothing scent, before Jamie was headed to the rugby field, running to begin his warm up.

Claire walked to the nearby pharmacy, sheltering her cold hands on the deep pockets of her blue overcoat, amusing herself with the way her breathing came out of her mouth in spirals of steam, as if a dragon was nestled, peacefully asleep, inside her chest.

As she stepped into the pharmacy, trying her best to appear casual and innocent, the woman behind the counter, sporting an imposing unibrow, smiled and greeted her.

“What can I do for you, Miss?” She said in a pleasant tone, while Claire fidgeted with her wallet, stalling.

A couple of elderly ladies was standing in line behind Claire, awaiting their turns to fill their prescriptions, undoubtedly victims of the nasty flu outbreak. They looked like regular attendees of Sunday Mass, the type that defended abstinence as the only contraceptive method possible – to avoid getting a ticket both to maternity ward and Hell. Summoning all her boldness, Claire decided that the best approach was to come straight out with it.

“May I have a pregnancy test, please?” She asked vehemently.

“Of course, dear.” The woman said, offering her a small smile that might have been a display of camaraderie, and padding into the next room to get the scandalous item. The sound of active gossiping was getting louder behind her and Claire didn’t resist the urge to give a narrow and cold look of reproach over her shoulder, expecting to shame the audience into submission.

“She will be a beautiful mother though, don’t you think?” One of them was whispering, her small eyes sparkling behind the rim of her glasses, with what could only be described as _“grandmother lust”_.

With her heart melting - and thinking that maybe something good could be said about people wishing well on strangers, even if a bit of a nosy attitude was involved - Claire received the small package and the succinct instructions offered by the pharmacist and made her way out into the cold air.

As she walked, Claire felt like she was carrying something alive and pulsing inside her purse – a secret about to be revealed, both terrifying and magnificent. A weight had been lifted from her heart by sharing her doubts with Jamie, but now she was carrying it on her shoulder - the burden of their future. Two paths were forming clearly ahead and Claire knew the decisive compass was now waiting inside her purse, sharing space with pens, rumpled handkerchiefs and scattered coins.

She was scared. So _terrified_. Having no reference of a motherly figure from her own life, she seriously doubted her abilities to care for another being in the right way. Was there a secret to tuck in sheets tighter? Was there a special cologne she ought to use, to make herself smell like warmth and home, the most vivid memory she had of her own mother? How was she to learn the secret way of words, how to guide without dictate; how to deny and yet show that the ultimate answer was always love?

Things would be hard. Becoming a parent at such a young age wasn’t part of her plans – or Jamie’s. But the image of him was trapped inside her head – the heartbreaking softness about him when he had touched her belly, the promise as alive in his palm as it had been in his words. _To protect and love_. The emotions flowing through him – even if he had tried to put them in check, knowing her vulnerable and afraid - having lost so much in the past few weeks, the idea of a family of his own was healing him, in a way that even her lingering kisses could not.

She still had doubts, but she had one unshakeable certainty – either now or someday in the distant future, Jamie would be the father of her children. She already loved him for the man that he was to her; and now she could love him even more - for the father he would become.

****

“I canna believe ye and Jenny argued about something sae foolish.” Jamie babbled, fazed. He was standing next to Ian, watching the new recruits receiving their instructions for the exercises they were about to begin. “She kens ye only have eyes for her.”

“Och, aye.” Ian groaned. “Ye know your sister. Once she gets something in her head, God himself with a hammer couldna get it out. The moment I told her I won’t be able to go visit for a few weeks, she was adamant that I must have found _“an educated whore_ ””. He moved his fingers in the air to make apparent that he was quoting her word by word. “The wee lass made quite a stramash. I thought maybe she could do with my absence and decided to head straight back – ye ken, to force her to see the error of her ways.”

“Ye were that afraid she would kick ye in the baws, then?” Jamie laughed. “Ran away in the middle of the night?”

“I happen to quite like my testicles.” Ian grumbled. “I met the Edinburgh team on the train. Are they coming for a match?”

“Yes.” Jamie followed with his eyes the candidates, now in the middle of a drill to test their velocity. His fingers were tapping the side of his thigh. “We’ll do a small amiable game tomorrow.” He tilted his chin to point a young man amongst the scattered players, blonde hair shinning in the timid morning sun. He wasn’t really imposing – not it the way Jamie himself was commanding, with his amazing height and broad shoulders. But he was agile and had a grace about him that made him suitable for some sleek movements. “That lad is very impressive. Do ye know him?”

“I think his name is John Grey. I talked to him a few times in the pub, seemed humble and witty – he’s in the Political Science department, I believe.” Ian whistled, as John made a particular successful pass. “Nice. Do ye think he is the one?”

“He might just be.” Jamie agreed, rubbing his face in concern as a crowd of stocky and tall men appeared on the sidelines of the field, all of them wearing red jumpers with blue letters. “It seems the Edinburgh lads canna wait to watch us play.”

“That’s enough, ladies!” Coach MacQuarrie barked and the prospective players came to a sudden halt. “Thank you for coming. I’ll decide who will join the team and post it this afternoon of the board outside the locker room. Now, you’re welcome to stay and watch some real rugby being played!”

The dismissed players groaned acknowledgements and words of incitement – someone attempted to sway Taran MacQuarrie’s stony heart with a salute of “Team Oxford!” – and they all left the field with different looks of tiredness and hope. John Grey passed near Jamie, taking off his blue sweatshirt to start training, and presented them with a shy smile and a wave to Ian. His eyes were blue and warm, but he shielded them well – there was no visible display of expectations or cockiness, even after his masterful performance.

The actual training began, with Jamie doing an effort to avoid the buzzing coming from the Edinburgh team. They were clearly on a mission to ensue chaos and probably have one – or more – of the Oxford players hurt or punished for unsportsmanlike behaviour.

They were halfway through practice when Jamie, taking a couple of minutes to drink water and dry his forehead and damp hair with a towel, noticed Claire waving at him. She was accompanied by Geillis Duncan, her roommate - she apparently had come to greet some acquaintances from Scotland.

He had been unconsciously worried for Claire and the idea of leaving her alone at such a trying time – a wave of relief washed over him, as he watched her smile tenderly. Jamie had the sudden image of Claire with her belly swollen with their child, naked and writhing under him – and the desire that propagated through his body, arousing him mercilessly, almost took his breath away. He folded over, kneeling to pretend he was checking his shoelaces, visceral lust and a primitive desire to protect filling his ears with a deafening sound.

Some of the young men surrounding Geillis had noticed Claire’s beauty – one of them was close to her, trying to pick up her attention and initiate a conversation. Jamie watched as Claire smiled politely and shook her head, a finger vaguely pointing in his direction, probably implying that she was there to see him.

“ _Neo-geimnidh meala!”_ Jamie heard the man laugh. And the world suddenly was narrowed to a pulsing point, the newfound enemy in its centre, his sole intent to abolish the threat as he ran to him.

“ _Seas, Seamus!”_ Ian grabbed Jamie’s back and tried to pull him away from his opponent. The Gaelic, the language of his dreams, was the thing that managed to penetrate his haze, more than his friend’s efforts. Jamie was on top of the man, his hands nestled around his neck like a punishing rope placed by the executioner. “ _Gu leoir, a charaid!”_

“ _Cuir stad!”_ A voice demanded, overpowering all the mayhem, while players from both teams cheered, incited and insulted each other.

Jamie stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips tasted like blood and bitterness, as if anger had suddenly acquired a distinct taste.

“Jamie, are you alright?” Claire asked, searching for injuries with her whiskey-coloured eyes.

“Aye.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on the man that had stopped the fight, now helping his teammate to get up. They knew each other well – had been in the same classroom back in Scotland and were tied together by their shared past – even if friendship had never united them.

“Tom.” Jamie acknowledge in a hoarse voice.

“James.” Tom Christie answered, bending his head just enough to make it seem like a sign of respect. “Seems I made a timely arrival – barely managed to avoid you mangling my player.”

“Are you in the Edinburgh team, then?” Jamie asked. Claire was next to him, her hand grasping the back of shirt in a tight fist, undoubtedly feeling his tension. Ian was on his right side, arms folded, glaring at Tom Christie like he was an unpleasant object, even if somewhat amusing.

“I’m team captain.” The dark-haired man replied dryly. “Is this how you receive guests in this college, Fraser?”

“Yer… _teammate_.” Jamie gritted his teeth. “Insulted Claire.”

“And who is Claire?” Tom asked with scorn, raising an eyebrow.

“I am.” Claire answered, defiantly. She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “You can save the apologies from your cave-dweller friend, though – I don’t speak troglodyte.”

Every Oxford player laughed and even some visitors made poor attempts of hiding amused smiles behind theirs hands, simulating concern.  Tom Christie was pale, his mouth slightly ajar.

“Well, then.” He babbled. “I’ll offer them anyway… _Claire_. I don’t like to think my players are any less courteous and chivalrous than the ones you have here.”

“I doubt that.” Claire gave him a lopsided smile, quickly glancing at Jamie with pride. “But you are welcome to try and prove me wrong.”

Although emotions were still running high, everyone settled enough for the training to proceed. Jamie’s teammates surrounded him the entire time, building a wall between him and the inflammatory looks from Tom and his teammates, acting as shields to their captain. Claire remained next to Geillis, but prudently away from the visiting team – her posture show concern and tension.

After being yelled at by Coach MacQuarrie – more concerned with the possibility of him breaking a hand and being forced to sit out the Championships, seriously jeopardizing their chances of winning the whole thing, than by any displays of less than stellar behaviour – Jamie made his way to Ian to collect his bag and head out for lunch.

“Never thought I’d be meeting Tom Christie again.” Jamie sighed. “If we win tomorrow, what do you suppose will happen? He doesna like losing – least of all to me.”

“Tom never liked ye and made no secret of his animosity, _a charaid_. The man is a jealous one and yer talent in the rugby field made him green with envy, as did yer easiness with people and yer charms with the lassies.” Ian smiled in excuse for pointing so blatantly Jamie’s attributes. “But now, the look on his face…”

“What do ye mean, Ian?” Jamie asked in a low voice, his eyes never drifting from the sight of Tom Christie and his comrades, still laughing and mocking – him? _Probably._ \- on the other side of the field.

“He has the look of a man who covets everything you hold dear, _a bhalaich_.” Jamie turned his head and watched Ian’s face, serious and intent, his eyes squinting in the direction of the stands. “Of someone ready to try and steal what is most precious to you.”  

And Jamie watched as Claire smiled to Geillis, the midday sun awakening gold and bronze in her hair, heedless of the wolfish grey eyes studying her across the field, famished and calculating.


	9. Daisies & Thistles

_**Daisies & Thistles** _

“Do ye need help?” Jamie tentatively touched the closed door. “Why is it taking sae long?”

“No!” Claire’s irritated voice sounded from the inside of the bathroom. “Why don’t you try to pee on a stick to see how easy it is?”

He snorted, a timid smile dawning on his mouth, amidst all the nervous tension.

“It would probably be a lot easier.” He replied. “I can aim.”

“Alright.” She opened the door and sighed, folding her arms. “It’s done. Now we wait.”

“Come here.” Jamie asked, opening his arms. She obediently walked to meet him and her breath caught in her throat as soon as she felt his arms embracing her, strong and supportive. “I love ye, _mo nighean donn_. I’m here – no matter what happens.”

“I know.” She whispered against his collarbone. “Just a couple of minutes longer. So, what’s up with you and Tom Christie?”

“Ach.” Jamie rubbed her back, feeling her starting to relax. “We went to school together back in Scotland, in _Broch Mordha_. He isna a highlander – born and raised in Edinburgh, I believe – but went to live there when we were teens.”

“He seems to have some kind of feud with you.” Claire said slowly, tucking her hands on the waistband of his jeans. “What did you do to make him hate you so much?”

“Why do ye think it’s _my_ fault?” Jamie raised a brow and asked, outraged. “Why canna be _his_ doing?”

Claire’s body shook with supressed laughter. “I love you, James Fraser. But _you are_ trouble.”

“Alright.” He sighed, pinching her buttock in retaliation. “Wee Tom wanted to be Head Boy – dreamt of leading the school and being looked up to. But the headmistress chose me to represent the school in such capacity and he was verra angry. It didn’t help that I was a much better rugby player than him, or that the lasses…erm… _fancied_ me.”

“Tom wanted to be prom queen and you stole his crown.” Claire clicked her tongue. “Boys. And people say girls are vindictive.”

“There’s more.” Jamie said haltingly. “We got into a fight – and because there were witnesses who saw that I only defended myself, Tom ended being expelled from the school.”

“Ah.” Claire withdrew slightly to look into his eyes. “That’s quite ancient history though – he might have changed. Maybe we can hope for the best and meanwhile…you’ll be careful?”

“Aye.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I wouldna dare to tell ye what to do, Sassenach – I learn from my mistakes, believe it or not – but I’ll advise ye to stay away from the man. I’m concerned that he might hurt ye somehow, or come close to ye just to punish me in some way.”

She looked into his eyes and saw real fear there – and slowly exhaled and nodded.

“Alright.” She kissed his lips, slightly cold. “I think it’s time.” Claire gently let go of him and walked to the washbasin, where she had left the daunting item, looking like a weird thermometer. She quickly grabbed it without looking into it and closed her fist around it.

“Well, how does it work?” Jamie asked in a somewhat strangled voice. “How do ye know the result?”

“Two stripes means it’s positive.” Claire bit her full bottom lip, her hand nervously waving, the test still secluded between her fingers. “That I’m pregnant.”

“Do ye want me to see it?” He proposed softly. “Or we can do it together.”

“I think…” She brushed her stubborn curls, falling in a cascade around her shoulders, looking utterly lost. “Will you hold me while I look?”

“Always.” He smiled and came behind her, his strong arms folding around her waist. He was slightly bent to better fit her body – his jaw resting on her graceful shoulder. She went almost boneless, breathing deeply and surrendering to his calm centre – her head leaned back, searching for the hollow of his chest where it fitted perfectly. He kissed the top of her head, encouraging her – and slowly his fingers entwined with hers, offering her his strength, until she reluctantly opened them.

For a moment they only listened to the distant voices outside, students going out to grab some dinner, friends returning from long walks in the park, a couple trading harsh words bellow the dorm’s window – unintelligible, but quick and angry, like a hive of bees commanding an attack. The world was all around them, still happening in its own pace, heedless of the defining moment they were living.

Claire suddenly recalled with vividness a time of her life in Southern Europe – her uncle had been doing some excavations on Roman occupation in Lusitania – and the field of daisies that grew behind their accommodations. She used to go there at sundown – her young fingers plucking white petals from the divinatory flower, chanting “ _He loves me…He loves me not…”._ Back then there wasn’t even a love interest – but she found it amusing and comforting that life could be settled so easily, by the willpower of a single flower. This was eerily similar – only this time the flower had been replaced by a white pharmacy test and she already knew she was loved.

“One stripe.” Jamie whispered in her ear. “That means ye’re are not pregnant. Aye?”

“Yes.” She answered in a low voice. “I’m not pregnant.” Claire didn’t know what she was feeling – there was relief there to be sure, but also a pain she hadn’t been expecting. She turned to face Jamie.

He was serene, his face a mask of stilled waters – but for the briefest of moments, when she had turned, she had seen it – the loss.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Please?” She added in a murmur, her thumb tracing the curve of his high cheek, until it reached the edge of his long and straight nose. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I ken it wasna the right time, Claire – how hard it would be for the both of us.” Jamie smiled shyly. “But the idea of a child – yer child – grew on me today. So much so I began to think I was going to burst from it – from being so full and so complete.”

“Are you disappointed then?” She searched his eyes, blue and limpid, stormless like a merciful sea. “Do you wanted it to be real?”

“Part of me did.” Jamie admitted in a hoarse voice. “I was watching you in the field today – imagining yer belly round and swollen with our bairn – and I almost lost it. I wanted to take ye to my bed and make ye scream and cradle ye inside my hands afterwards. I craved to kiss ye, until yer lips were bruised and swollen from it, so everybody could see; and to tell ye all the poems I know by heart. It was so powerful, Claire. It made me afraid, because I wasna aware of that part of me.”

“I saw it too.” Claire whispered, her heart thundering inside her chest. “You and our child together – a family of my own. I was afraid, but then I was… _hopeful_.”

“You will be the mother of my children, Sassenach.” His hands travelled along her arms, until they reached her waist and her flat stomach. “I shall see ye so, when the time is right.”

“So…we wait?” Claire asked softly.

“We wait.” Jamie nodded, smiling as he watched her lips already parting to receive his kiss. “And maybe I can practice the part of making ye scream just now.”

****

“I have something for ye.” He said tenderly, kissing her temple. She nuzzled his shoulder and turned her face to look at him, glaring at her with love in his eyes.

They were sitting by the same fountain where they had talked the first night – the glorious day they assumed their feelings, discovering they were entirely reciprocated.

“Do you?” She asked, curious, in a hoarse voice. They had made love, urgently and passionately, on the floor of the bathroom, barely restraining enough to rid themselves of clothes. He had made her scream – repeatedly – and she had clawed his back with her nails, temporarily tattooing him with the echoes of her release. They were barely composed when Ian had entered the dorm, looking embarrassed and mortified – his blushing enhanced by Claire’s tousled hair and the bruises on Jamie’s neck. “What is it?”

“Give me yer hand.” He asked, reaching out with his own palm. She diligently complied.

He traced the lines on her palm with his fingertips, exquisitely soft as the brush of a painter, awakening the butterflies in her belly. He stopped when he reached her Venus Mount and, bending over his head, lightly bit her there with his teeth, making her gasp. She then felt something cold on her finger and saw that he had placed a silver ring there.

“It’s not much, _mo ghraidh_. But if my love for ye is endless, my words are not. I wish I could tell ye, again and again, that ye are my life – each time with a new word, made only for ye. Perhaps this ring can tell ye how I love ye, when I fail to do so.”

“Jamie…” She whispered. It was a thin band, with intricate thistle blooms carved at the centre of each link. It was _her_ in a way that nothing else was – not the clothes she chose herself, not the books she read all her life, not the reflection she saw on the mirror. Jamie had looked into her soul – and understanding and cherishing the fact that something of them _both_ now lived there – had turned their essence into something she could wear everyday. “It’s perfect.”

“Will ye wear it, Claire?” He asked, his voice hopeful and warm as a summer morning. She knew what he meant. The ring was not a proposal – not yet, anyway – but was a promise and a vow between them.

“Yes.” Claire kissed the ring, feeling the metal reassuringly cold and real against her lips. “As long as we both shall live.”


	10. Fairplay

_**Fairplay** _

“And the teams are out on the field, looking decided - and pretty scary if you ask me! Jamie _“King of Men”_ Fraser leading Oxford and Tom Christie commanding the Edinburgh fellows!” The speaker roared, as the stands applauded and cheered, a jungle of whistles and shouts of incentive. “You can tell the rivalry is strong in this one - the winning team today will definitely be the front runner heading to the Championships next month!”

“Jamie looks focused.” Ian commented next to Claire, clapping as the Oxford team players were announced by the speaker. “And Christie looks like gloom and doom – I bet he isna up to anything good.”

“I’m sure our team will handle it.” Claire replied, adjusting her sunglasses – the sun was out that morning, apparently eager to pay testimony to a much anticipated rugby game. As Jamie’s name was called and he briefly waved at the crowd, screams and chanting enhanced tenfold, as if the volume switch had been turned to maximum. “Is that the new player?” She asked curious, noticing the young man sitting on the bench, his blonde hair glowing like a marigold in the sunlight.

“Aye.” Ian smiled. “John Grey was the one drafted – too bad there wasna enough time for him to become better acquainted with the team. Our current scrum half is rubbish and John seems to be a great player.”

“What a shame!” Claire agreed. Jamie and Tom approached the centre of the field to shake hands, a duel of crushing grips, their eyes locking with unspoken promises of a ruthless game.

The Edinburgh team kicked off with brutal intensity, taking the lead with an early drop goal. Tom Christie was indeed a good player, Claire had to recognize – he seemed to make the rest of his colleagues better just by interacting with them, pushing them to their limits – a lot like Jamie did.

“It seems like Fraser was just warming up!” The speaker pointed with excitement in his voice. “He is leading the team to a try – the Edinburgh boys will need to catch a ride with a motorcycle to be able to get to him!” And soon enough Jamie grounded the ball over the opponent’s goal line, awakening huge clamours from the cheering crowd.

The next few minutes were hectic, with both teams achieving scoring points – they were fairly equated, both having some weaknesses and a couple of extraordinary players. The game became rougher, with a couple of ugly tackles taking place, the nastier one inflicted by Christie on Jamie. Claire’s heart tightened when she saw him projected in the air – echoes of the game with Northumbria and his head injury racing through her mind – but he promptly got up and raised a thumb to ease the mind of the howling crowd. They reached the halftime with Edinburgh on the lead, having been awarded a penalty point after an infringement from Oxford’s scrum half.

“I canna believe we might lose this!” Ian clenched his teeth, looking thoroughly annoyed. “I canna stand the idea of Tom Christie prancing about our campus, gloating after their victory!”

“It’s not over yet.” She said in a cheerful tone, looking as Jamie talked and gesticulated with the coach. He seemed irritated with something and kept throwing evaluating looks at their scrum half and then at John Grey. “I think we might be in for a surprise.”

When the halftime was over, the substitution was made – clearly a joint decision from Jamie and the coach - and John Grey entered the field for the first time wearing Oxford’s colours, looking pale but decided.

As soon as they made the formation, Grey threw the ball into it and moved as lightening to the hindmost foot of the scrum, neatly picking up the ball and passing it - like a guided missile - to the hands of Oxford’s fly half, the captain himself, Jamie Fraser. With the proceeding game, it became quite clear that Grey was not only an outstanding player – with a knack for impossible passes and agile as a gazelle in avoiding Christie’s tackles -, but also that he and Jamie were meant to play together. They seemed to predict each other’s moves with easiness and stormed the field like dancers in a physical duet, battering the Edinburgh team’s lines and inspiring the rest of Oxford’s players. A short stretch of time was enough for them to recover from the disadvantage at the score board, sealed with a mind-blowing drop goal that made the fans go crazy.

Chanting propagated like a tribal calling in the stands, encouraging both Jamie and John, which by then had already earned the right of a _nom de guerre_ – John _“The Lord”_ Grey.

When the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the game, a joyful wave of blue crashed on the grass, as Oxford’s players ran and jumped on top of Jamie and John – the solid foundation of a victorious human pyramid. Claire looked around, grinning as Ian fist bumped the air – her heart overflowing with pride, noticing the gigantic smiles all around her. Jamie was hugging an incredulous John, complimenting him on his achievements – the promise of a legendary friendship being born on a cloudless day.

****

“You’re late.” Claire announced, as Jamie arrived half running, his hair flaming on the light of dusk - as if the sun was setting inside him.

“I’m sorry, _mo nighean donn_.” He kissed her forehead in apology, as she pursued her lips and began the task of fixing the collar of his shirt. “I went for a run with John and lost track of time discussing some tactics.”

“That’s alright.” She sighed, bumping his nose. “Ian called to say he’ll be meeting us there. Is John coming too?”

“Aye.” Jamie caught her hand and entwined their fingers, as they began to walk together. It was the college’s anniversary – a big milestone, even for such an ancient institution – and a fancy party was taking place in the Main Hall, where lots of prominent students and alumnae would be gathered to celebrate. “He went to his dorm to shower and will meet us there.”

“You quite like him, don’t you?” Claire asked, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb. “You two became quite close in this last month – always training together and talking.”

“John is a kind, good-hearted, man.” Jamie agreed. “Talking to him always seems easy and uncomplicated – a lot like talking to you, actually.” He smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And we’re much stronger as a team since he came on board. We might actually have a chance at the Championships.”

“Should I be jealous?” She elbowed him, playfully, in a mock pretence of grievance. “You have been spending more time with him than me, that’s for sure.”

“John Grey might be an interesting lad and a good friend.” He let go of her hand and held her by the waist, the tip of his fingers brushing the curve of her buttock, hidden under the emerald green fabric of her cocktail dress. “But he doesna have an arse like yers, Sassenach. You will always be number one in my book, especially when ye wear such a nice dress – _A Dhia_ , I can feel ye underneath it. Do we really have to go anywhere at all?”

“Always making me feel special.” Claire replied dramatically, offering him a light peck on the lips – careful not to smudge her discrete lipstick – and then a possessive squeeze of his own hardened and well-shaped _derrière_. “Enough time for me to wear your shirt later.”

The vast room was already filled with people, wearing unusually elegant garments – girls with dresses of vivid colours, forming a spontaneous bouquet against the blooming light of chandeliers and sparkling glasses – luring men in their suits with promises of hidden secrets. Jazz music played in the background, setting the rhythm to conversations and filling the gaps of silence in some awkward exchanges.

Claire and Jamie smiled to a couple of acquaintances and waved to some colleagues, as they made their way into the heart of the party. They were standing close together, talking about Claire’s classes, when a male voice imposed over their conversation.

“Claire?” Frank Randall smiled at her, his brows furrowing when he glanced at Jamie from the corner of his eye. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Frank.” She greeted him, turning around. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Fraser.” Frank acknowledge Jamie with a small nod of his head, his thin lips forming a weak attempt at a pleasant smile. “Congratulations on that fantastic game with Edinburgh last month. Very well played.”

“Thank ye, Professor Randall.” Jamie gave him a relaxed smile and turned to Claire. “ _Mo nighean donn_ , I think I’ll go and say hello to Ian and John. I’ll see ye in a bit.” He kissed her cheek and squeezed her fingers in goodbye, offering her strength – reassuring her of his trust and love – and walked away, towering over the crowd.

“I was wondering…” Frank hawked, his fingers fidgeting with the glass of champagne he was holding. “If we could talk.”

“We are already talking, I daresay.” Claire pointed, accepting a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, offered by a passing waiter. “What is it, Frank?”

“Ah – yes.” He licked his lips, quickly looking around them, scanning for anyone within earshot. ““It has become my understanding that you and James Fraser are dating.” He said in a hurry, as if he was running away from his own words. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t see how that would be any of your business.” Claire replied in a dry tone, raising a brow. “We haven’t been together in a long time, Frank. But yes - everybody knows Jamie is my – _very serious_ \- boyfriend. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“I see.” He swallowed hard, avoiding her piercing amber eyes, and glancing at her silver ring. “I thought maybe it was a fleeting dalliance. I believed you fancied someone more refined – more polished.”

“Is that what _you_ are?” Claire asked gently, anger and resentment completely absent from her words. “Because I was under the impression things didn’t work out between us – and not by any fault of mine, Frank. If only you had been happy sleeping with one student at a time, perhaps we would be together until this day.”

“I deserve that.” Frank pinched his nose with his skinny fingers. “I was terribly foolish to hurt you, Claire. You are, by far, the most singular woman I ever met.”

“I’m happy you did.” She said softly, looking intently at him. “I only met Jamie because of it – and everything that led me to him has my deepest gratitude.”

“I was under the impression you still had some… _feelings_ for me.” He whispered in a strained voice. “You are always so charming and pleasant every time we meet and have a conversation.”

“I’m over you, Frank.” Claire affirmed, trying to infuse some kindness into the situation, but getting increasingly more uncomfortable. “That’s why I’m nice when we talk. I don’t have any repressed feelings – no secret expectations of you wanting me back. You were important to me, once – I offer you the respect that position deserves. Nothing less – nothing more.”

“I have seen how you look at _him_. The pride and joy in your eyes.” Frank bit his words. “Did you ever love me?”

“I did.” She whispered, softly. “But not like that – not how I love him.”

“He knows about us, doesn’t he?” He brushed his short dark hair. “And yet he left you with me. Maybe he doesn’t care all that much.”

“What we have has no room for mistrust or lies.” She smiled, distracted, her eyes already searching for Jamie amongst the crowd. “He left because he respects me. Because he trusts me – _us_ \- with all his heart.”

“I wish you happiness, Claire.” Frank finally turned away, hiding the pain in his eyes.

“Be happy too, Frank.” She tilted her head. “As I am.”

****

Claire searched for Jamie inside the room – spending quite some time in pushing through the animated crowd and stopping to exchange pleasantries with teachers from the medical department, some already quite inebriated. He was nowhere within sight, so Claire decided to search for him outside.

When the big oak doors caved under the pressure of her hands, she was saluted by the night’s cold breeze, the taste of oranges and jasmine on the back of her throat. It seemed like the party had extended beyond the premises of the Hall - students were scattered in the lawn in front of the building, laughing and talking in small groups.

She spotted Jamie – looking magnificent in his grey suit pants and light blue shirt - talking to John – clad in black and grey - under the shadows of a cypress. They were tall and beautiful, like legends of days long forgotten, best friends in times of peace and warriors when the occasion called for such actions. John was talking rapidly to Jamie, who seemed to be entirely amused by whatever was being said. Eventually he whispered back to John and they both laughed together.

Claire could tell the moment Jamie had spotted her – even at distance his eyes seemed to soften and the corners of his mouth were pushed on an eager smile. He patted John’s back in farewell and started to walk towards her.

For an instant she could see John Grey, left behind as Jamie made his way to her, and a shiver shot through her spine. It was like looking into a strange mirror - his eyes betrayed exactly the same desire and adoration that could be found within her own.


	11. He Who Loves Him

_**He Who Loves Him** _

Claire was brushing her teeth, silently going over every possible therapeutic scheme for a pneumonia – she had a pharmacology test later that week -, when her phone buzzed inside her pocket.

_“Going for an early session with JG, need to train our plays. Meet me there later, Snch? Love u. XO”_

The image of John Grey the previous night, his unshielded emotions pouring out, came to her mind with the impact of a slap. Could she be wrong? She didn’t thought so. In that fraction of time John had laid down his guard, totally exposed as his heart called out for Jamie’s. She knew that look – had surprised it enough times while looking into the mirror or gazing at Jamie’s eyes since that first night, months ago.

Was Jamie aware of his affections? That issue was even more complicated. He was a sensitive and wise man – Claire highly doubted he would proposedly seek John’s company so often, knowing that it might encourage him somehow. Knowing that, deep down, every time they stood close he was teasing John. No – she was fairly sure Jamie had no clue. Besides, she was confident he would have shared any thoughts of that nature with her.

It was like holding a grenade – a weapon of destruction had been bestowed into her care and now she had to decide what to do with it – she could almost feel it, throbbing dangerously in her hand with each passing second. Should she share her suspicions with Jamie? The repercussions of that discovery floated in front of her eyes, as ripples of a disturbance in the water. Perhaps she ought to remain silent and wait for things to unfold as they would? Perchance knowing his feelings unreciprocated, Grey would slowly forget Jamie?

Slowly she typed her answer and hit send, her chest heavy as a quarry. _“See you then. XX”_

She went to the library in search of some articles, needed to complete her essay on the benefits of breast cancer screening. All the time, while she perused the books and medical publications in search of helpful materials, a permanent weight was trapped inside her, like a vine around her trachea and lungs, threatening to suffocate her – the burden of secrets kept and the clairvoyance of pain to come.

“Claire!” Ian called her with urgency, hurriedly walking along the corridor of bookcases. He was almost breathless and he had a deep crease on his forehead. “ _A Dhia_! I’ve been searching everywhere for ye. Something happened.”

“Jamie.” She whispered, dropping a pile of books on the floor, her lips numb. “What is it, Ian? What happened?”

“He is alright.” Ian comforted her, but his lips were twisted in apprehension. “But he punched John Grey – hit him pretty badly.”

“What?!” Claire asked, astonished. She grabbed Ian by the shoulders and shook him slightly, as if panning gold from a river. “But they are friends.”

“Well…” Ian swallowed hard and blushed like a lobster under the influence of the cooker. “Apparently Grey kissed him in front of the whole team.”

****

Claire found him sitting – of rather _collapsed_ \- on the lawn of the nearby park – usually a perfect hiding place, if not for the gossip that followed him and made him as easy to trace as a fugitive kangaroo.

“Have you come here to yell at me?” John asked, his eyes caught in the distant flock of birds, raiding the top of the trees like a heavenly army, flaunting their freedom with a stroke of wings. “God I wish they’d stop doing that.” He grumbled, as a couple of girls blatantly pointed in his direction from afar, their laughs clear as seagulls’ cries calling for a storm at sea.

“You kissed my boyfriend.” Claire said in a conversational tone while she sat next to him on the grass, folding her legs in a meditation position. “The thought of giving a shout or two has crossed my mind. Don’t you think I’m entitled to it? Or being a boy is supposed to offer you some privileges?”

“I was thinking you’d find it ridiculous enough to pity me.” He snorted, brushing his knuckles. He was sporting an impressive black eye, as if something had started to rot from the inside out, hidden truths closer to the surface of the skin. “I’m not your rival, Claire – never will be.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about your feelings, John.” She said softly, brushing away a stubborn curl waving like a flag on the breeze. “I hope you know that.”

“Jamie didn’t seem to agree.” John closed his eyes and grimaced. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you in any way, Claire. I know what you are – _who you are_ – to him.”

“So what did you mean?” She waited patiently as his fingers played with a solitary dandelion, an outcast amongst the green blades of grass, akin to himself.

“I’m in love with him.” He whispered, his ears acquiring a faint pinkish tone – his light blue eyes serious and tormented. Was it the first time he admitted it out loud? “I had promised myself I would never act upon it – would never sought nothing more than his friendship. I was decided to cherish whatever he chose to give me as my most precious gift.”

“What changed, then?” Claire nodded, observing as an ant made its way across her finger, tickling her with its infinitesimal steps – unbelievingly strong by nature’s standards and yet so fragile had she chosen to crush it.  

“He was so happy after practice today – so hopeful for the Championships next week.” John explained in a choked voice, shrugging. “For a moment I lost track of reality – I was entangled in the fantasy that I could be part of his elation. I kissed him because I forgot myself.”

“I understand.” She gently placed the ant on the ground beside her, contemplating as it continued its previous path, undisturbed. “I do.” She repeated, noticing his sideways glance of doubt. “I know how easy it is to love him. I could never reproach you for that.”

“Yes.” John bit his lip, until a drop of blood was formed underneath his teeth – as if he had been kissed by an angry deity, marking him for the ultimate sacrifice. His voice was low and almost angry – not with her but with himself; with the temptations of loving a man beyond his reach. “And how hard is it to laugh with him and not touch him? To hear him talk and not kiss him to drink down his words – ever thirsty, ever wanting? This mark,” He brushed the bruise on his face with moving tenderness, as a caress of a lover. “It’s the closest thing I’ll ever have of his touch on me.”

“You took him by surprise.” Claire watched as he finally crushed the dandelion bellow his trembling fingers, annihilating the part of himself that stood out from the crowd. “I’m sure that’s why he hit you.”

“Perhaps.” The young man laughed – a short and forced sound, like thousands of cries trapped bellow his ribs, cracking every vessel, every organ, wide open. “But now I lost him forever. I won’t have him in any capacity – and I don’t think I can live with that notion. He demanded that I never speak to him again – or even call him _Jamie_. I feel small and pathetic as only loveless beings can be.”

They sat in silence for a while, strange companions linked by the shared love of a single man – one heart sure and complete reaching out to glue the shards of one irredeemably broken. Claire felt a million different emotions, battling inside her mind like opposing armies, until she was ready to surrender to a numbing conclusion – part of her mourning for John’s uncorresponded love; another screaming in blasphemy at him, who had dared to steal a kiss promised only to her.  

“I’m sorry I told you these things.” John whispered, as shadows grew around them, finally making him invisible to unwelcome eyes. “It can’t be easy hearing another soul lusting after what is rightfully yours. How do _you_ feel about all this?”

“Sad.” Claire said in a soft tone and then, looking to him with sincerity written all over her face. “ _Avenged_.”

****

She knew where to find him – there was only one place on campus that could ease his troubled soul, where he would go to release his consuming thoughts.

Claire entered the locker room without knocking on the door – it was late and any practice had surely ended hours ago. He was there, sitting on the bench, a towel draped around his shoulders – he looked worn out and battered. His fast breathing was the only audible sound besides her own steps – he had been working out, probably repeating the dynamics she had witnessed the day she first saw him. Once upon a time he had been consumed with the desire of being better, of overcoming himself – now he was using the same tactics to run away from things that awaited on the inside, dreary and haunting.

“I’ve been looking for you.” She said softly, coming closer to him. “I thought you would come to me after what happened.”

“I needed to think.” Jamie looked at her with troubled eyes. “Besides, I dinna know what ye’d feel - and think - about all of this.”

“I think you’re hurt.” She whispered, her thumb touching her silver ring for strength – it seemed like a lifetime ago, the night he had given it to her, the fountain singing around them. “And you shouldn’t be alone.” Jamie glared at her and his lips contorted in agony.

“Ye knew.” He affirmed – almost accused – in a raw voice, his eyes drifting away from her face. “Didn’t ye?”

“I did.” Claire admitted, leaning against the lockers behind her.

“Why didn’t ye tell me?” Jamie asked, cleaning the sweat of his brow with a towel. “I thought we had honesty between us, Claire.”

“We do.” She inhaled deeply. “Between _us_. This had nothing to do with me, Jamie – it was not my place to tell you of those suspicions. What if I had been wrong?”

“ _Ifrinn!_ I would have been prepared.” He hissed, throwing the towel on the floor. “I wouldna have been caught unaware like a blind fool.”

“I am sorry.” She breathed, sitting on the bench – keeping a respectful distance from him. “I didn’t want to torture you with things that might never come to pass. And John, he…”

“Dinna say his name to me!” Jamie spat out, closing his fists over his knees. “I should have killed the man.”

“I know you didn’t punch him because he likes men.” Claire said evenly. “I _know_ you Jamie. You’re better than any of those prejudices.”

“He touched me against my will!” He snickered. “And you think I’m not entitled to be outraged?”

“I’m sure you are.” She conceded, leaning over to search for his eyes. “But that is not all of it, is it?”

“I hurt him because he betrayed me, Claire.” He said between his teeth, sounding as broken and ruined as John had sounded earlier. “I opened up with him. Told him personal things, allowed him inside – and he used it to get close to me. He abused my trust.”

“That’s not all of it either, is it?” Claire demanded, sliding from her seat and kneeling in front of him – she held his hands on hers, battered and swollen knuckles as medals of sorrow, and felt the tremor in his body. “Tell me, Jamie. Why are you like this?”

“I’m angry because he got hurt!” He yelled, his fist releasing form her grip and hitting the locker next to him with a bang. “He left me no other choice! And now we canna go back and pretend this never happened, Claire.”

“You lost him too.” She realized, licking her lips, watching his blue eyes moist and fierce. “But you can still amend things.”

“He robbed me of something.” He shook his head, his hands finding their way to her face, as he held on to her. “I’m yers, Claire. I dinna want to belong to anyone else, ever again – he had no right to endanger that. If ye had suspected me or heard what people are saying…I canna breathe thinking I could lose ye.”

“I’d sooner doubt my heart than yours, Jamie.” She assured him, cradling his head between her hands.  “Trust me in this – as I’ve trusted you. I will only believe that I don’t hold your heart the day you tell me so, yourself. Nothing else on this earth can part me from you.”

“Claire.” Jamie whispered, tugging her closer. “Claire, I need ye so.”

She allowed him to claim her body there and then – pressing her against him in an urgency that was a coronation of his fears. And while he sought reassurance of his rightful place, she prayed for those who would never know such love, alone in the darkness outside of a healing heart.


	12. To Build a Bridge

_**To Build a Bridge** _

Claire surreptitiously watched Jamie, his eyes guarded – surrounded by deep dark circles born from sleepless nights –, as he pretended to read a large book, written in Latin. She moved uncomfortably on the picnic towel, battling the urge to say something. Tired of the confinement of the library and wishing to speak to him alone – but not really knowing how to introduce the subject – she had proposed for them to study outside and enjoy the sunny day, laying on the grass of the nearby park.

She gulped and opened her mouth to speak, words dying inside her throat like decaying flowers, too weak and soulless to thrive.

“What?” Jamie whispered, his eyes still fixed on the book – they hadn’t moved an inch for the past minutes, his mind absorbed in replaying the events of the last few days.  

“You should talk to him.” Claire blurted out, finally closing her own book with a slapping noise. “You should go to John.”

“I should not!” He furrowed his brows, silently admonishing her to stay away from the topic. She blatantly ignored him.

“You should!” She insisted, nervously trapping a curl behind her ear. “You’re hurting and the only way to solve it is to say what’s on your mind!”

“I already did!” Jamie hissed, almost projecting the paperback to the nearby pond, where ducks splashed and played, hiding their faces bellow dark waters. “Loud and clear. I remember my fists were involved.”

“That wasn’t talking.” Claire pointed, grasping for patience. “You were angry – maybe rightfully so. But John is your friend and you can’t have peace until you settle things with him.”

“ _Was_.” He growled, tilting his head to look away from her pressing eyes. “He  _was_  my friend – and it seems that friendship was verra one-sided. John had other plans – like sticking his filthy tongue inside my mouth.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” She said heatedly, sliding to be within his eyesight. “John has feelings for you, Jamie.  _He is in love with you_.” Jamie winced, but Claire pressed on. “Is it easier for you to pretend it was just a whim? A physical thing? To act like there wasn’t something much deeper there?”

“Claire.” He gave her a serious and warning look. “Ye’re out of line. This has nothing to do with ye.”

“Am I?” She asked, her voice softer. “I’ve held your soul between my own two hands, James Fraser. I have given you my body to bring you back, to keep you here – with me. I wear the ring you offered me and vowed to entwine my life with yours, for as long as we may live. I thought I was carrying your child – I still carry them all with me, the children you may one day give me. I have kissed you, loved you and fought you every day since you told me you’d have me. So don’t talk to me about a _bloody_   _line_!” Claire finished in a broken voice. “There is  _no line_  between us. One soul, one heart – even when it hurts the most.”

They were silent for a moment – Jamie’s eyes moist and troubled, Claire almost panting from the effort of excavating such words, deep truths hidden in the vault of her chest. Eventually he sought her hand – and she allowed him to find her.  _Right there_.  _Always within reach_.

“What can I tell him,  _mo nighean donn_?” He asked in a hoarse voice. “What words may I use to take us back in time? What may I tell him that wouldna sound heartless, diminishing to his feelings?”

“You’ll find the words.” She promised him, lightly caressing his temple, admiring the way the light caught in his eyelashes. “You always do.”

“ _I don’t love ye_.” Jamie whispered. “Such few words. And yet entire worlds are crumbling, visions of a life never to exist disappearing like sand in an hourglass. I’m sae angry still,  _mo ghraidh_. It simmers and coils inside me like a fire snake ready to pounce.” He leaned over and rested his forehead against hers. “I fear I’d be crueller than needed if I went to him in such spirits.”

“You need to tell him what you told me.” Claire kissed the corner of his lips, slightly chapped from the sun exposure. “How afraid you were for us. How heartbroken over the idea of losing his friendship. And just how much it costed you to hurt him.”

“I never asked for any of it.” He sighed, tugging her closer to hug her body with his powerful arms, hiding the pain in his words inside the mass of her hair.

“No.” She whispered against the warm skin on his neck. “But only  _you_  can make it right.”

****

Jamie walked in long steps, his hands plunged inside his pockets, his head slightly bent against the dusk’s strong wind. Claire had texted him, asking him to meet her near the track and field. He didn’t like to be so close to the rugby stadium, knowing the team would be training at that time. After the fallout with John, both players had been punished and suspended from the team, until they had put on an agreeable display of contrition. The coach’s screams still echoed inside his ears – the wrath of losing both of his best players because of their hot-headedness had been phenomenal.

A tall and lean figure became apparent in the periphery of his visual field, equally busy battling the unpleasant weather.

“What are ye doing here?” Jamie snapped, biting the inside of his cheek. John Grey looked distraught and positively mortified to be unexpectedly face to face with the captain.

“Claire asked me to meet her here.” He said haltingly, his usually fair cheeks flushed with crimson. “Said she needed my help with an assignment.”

“Did she now?” Jamie said between teeth, half irritated, half amused. “I think I ken exactly what  _assignment_  she needed help with.”

“Oh.” John looked around nervously. “Do you mean - did she plan for us to meet, then?”

“Aye.” Jamie sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Claire is a healer – not just  _what_ she does, but  _who_  she is deep down. She is trying her hardest to fix us.”

“ _Jamie_  –  _sorry_ ,” He grimaced, remembering the brutal way Jamie had demanded for him never to address him in such manner again. “I want you to know that  _I am sorry_  and I –“

“Don’t.” Jamie interrupted him, his jaw tense. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to talk about it – to  _really_  listen to whatever you have to say – but not now. Not yet, anyway.”

“Alright.” The blonde young man looked utterly broken, forcing a good-humoured smile into his lips. “At least you didn’t punch me this time around, so I call it an improvement. I should be on my way, then.”

They glared at each other – almost hearing the distant echoes of their former selves, laughing and pushing each other in that exact same place, just days before. Jamie finally looked away and slowly walked, the rugby field coming within sight. When he talked, be didn’t look at Grey, but his voice softened.

“Michael really needs to pass the ball to Glen, if that play is going anywhere at all.” He waited, as a surprised John gathered himself enough to mumble an agreement. “Watch Glen now. He is about to get tackled and doesna have a clue about it.”

“That pass should have been longer.” Grey analysed a bit later, as they sat on the grass watching the practice, a respectful distance separating them. “Christ Gavin, move that shoulder son!”

It was a pale comparison with what they used to have – the complicity, the easiness - but it was a truce. A kind of hesitant companionship, every movement and word calculated. It was a start, nonetheless – a fragile bridge they might cross, ignoring the haunting canyon bellow, to find common ground.  _A safe haven_.

“I should go.” John said, as night fell around them. “I have an essay to finish. I – it was good seeing you, Jamie.”

“I’m sorry I hurt ye, John.” Jamie rushed through the words, his voice almost lost in the howling wind. “Not that I punched ye – just that ye  _were hurt_. But I wasna ready for any of it and I let my fear get the best of me.”

“I blindsided you.” He twiddled his thumbs. “I just wish you could forget it all, to be honest.”

“Well, I canna do that.” Jamie got up and brushed his jeans, getting rid of wet green leaves. “I still respect ye too much to forget what ye feel, John. But maybe there is a way forward, if we are given enough time and us being willing.”

****

Claire was waiting close to his dorm, an expectant smile written on her lips. Jamie strode to meet her – his eyes and the lines of his face burning with a fierceness that almost frightened her. She half-expected him to yell at her - and maybe she deserved it for meddling.

When he finally reached her, his arms crushed her against his body, and she relaxed feeling the waves of relief pouring from him.

“Thank ye,  _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie whispered against her mouth, as the tip of his tongue slowly caressed her bottom lip. “For being not only my heart, but also my conscience.”

“Did you find a bridge, then?” She leaned against his body, melting with the hard slopes of him.

“Aye _._ My lass, my love.” He whispered almost breathless, right before he kissed her deeply. “ _Ye_  are the bridge.”


End file.
